


Elementary 14: The Baker Street Years V (1889-1891)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary: The Complete Cases of Castiel Novak (and Dean Winchester) [14]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Collars, Cosplay, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Gay Sex, Kidnapping, Lawrence KS, London, M/M, Massage, Minor Character Death, Murder, Period-Typical Racism, Poisoning, Smuggling, Temporary Character Death, The Final Problem, Theft, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Case 61. HEAVEN AND HELL (formerly 'The Hound Of The Baskervilles')</b><br/><b>Case 62. TWO MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT (formerly 'The Adventure Of The Dying Detective')</b><br/><b>Case 63. SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL (formerly 'The Adventure Of The Blue Carbuncle')</b><br/><b>Case 64. TIME IS ON MY SIDE (formerly 'The Adventure Of The Copper Beeches')</b><br/><b>Case 65. RED SKY AT MORNING (formerly 'The Adventure Of The Red-Headed League')</b><br/>Case 66. DEAD IN THE WATER (The Deadly Matter Of The Matilda Briggs, And The Giant Rat Of Sumatra)<br/>Case 67. THE FRENCH MISTAKE (The Explosive Affair Concerning The French Government)<br/><b>Case 68. REICHENBACH (formerly 'The Final Problem')</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Eight cases in over a year and a half may seem to indicate a slowing in cases, but as I have said before, Cas was kept busy during this period, and the fact that only eight cases are worthy of publication is just one of those things. Indeed, I wish it had not even been eight, for this time in our lives was one of growing darkness, as the shadow of the evil Doctor Kurt Metatron grew ever longer over us. And my own actions, in saving the life of that vile piece of human excrement when I should have let him die – it still makes me shudder, even though as Cas said, my doctor's oath bound me to do it.

This time also brought our first encounter with Mr. Marcus Crowley, one of several criminal 'acquaintances' Cas acquired over the years, and in whose presence I myself always felt uncomfortable. Yet it was an act of kindness from that man which prevented Doctor Metatron's initial attack on my friend from succeeding, and gave us both time to flee abroad. Though that escape ended at 'Reichenbach' – not the cascades in Switzerland which had given me such a bad experience during our Continental trip a few years back, but a small ranch-house on the edge of a small town in the state of Kansas in the United States of America – I owed him for that. 

Had I known what I would learn some three years later, or had I better understood the warnings that Fate had given me over the years, I would have known that I owed him so much more.


	2. Case 61: Heaven and Hell (1889)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'.

I

Cas had clients of all shapes and sizes during the years we hunted together. Tall or short, male or female, young or old, rich or poor, noble or charlady; they all came through the door of our Baker Street apartment seeking his help. But the person who requested his assistance on what would turn out to be our next case together was unusual, and his request even more so. For he was one of London’s foremost criminals, and his request would end in Cas himself breaking the law!  
   
It was August and the papers were full of the opening of the Savoy Hotel, and how the cream of London society were vying with each other for a chance to stay there. I had to admire the sagacity of the owner Mr. D'Oyly Carte; by limiting access to his hotel’s plush rooms, he had created an excess of demand as people fought to 'be one step ahead of the Joneses'. Cas’s brother Gabriel had been employed as one of the managers at the hotel, and our next client was, perhaps surprisingly in the circumstances, recommended to us by him.

I had had that particular horror of all doctors, a night call, having been summonsed to one of my richer clients at the ungodly hour of five a.m. Annoyingly it turned out to be nothing more than wind, brought on by over-eating; I may or may not have proscribed some particularly unpleasant and expensive medicine for the woman who deprived me of Cas and my bed. 

I returned to Baker Street at just after eight, mercifully in time for breakfast. I chanced to meet the postman on his way in and took his letters to the hall table, separating out the two letters for me and one small package for Cas, very badly wrapped. Indeed, it all but fell apart as I entered the room, to reveal a small sealed envelope and a dog-collar of all things. A surprisingly large one as well.

Cas came out of the bathroom a few moments after I arrived, and I handed the letter and collar to him. He opened and read the letter, and seemed to blush for some reason. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked, worried.

“A Mr. Marcus Crowley wishes to call on us”, he said, placing the collar in his desk and locking the draw.  
   
“Is there a reason why this gentleman forewarns us of his arrival?” I inquired. Only the richest clients usually acted in this way; most just turned up unannounced.  
   
Cas smiled at me.  
   
“Since the retirement of our friend Mr. Khrushnic to fair Burgundy, Mr. Crowley has become one of the top criminals in our fair city.”  
   
“And he wishes to consult you on some matter?” I asked.  
   
“Indeed”, he said. “Not only that, but he has been recommended by my brother Gabriel. Mr. Crowley was one of the first guests at the Savoy, so we are clearly dealing with someone…. unusual.”  
   
I had no idea just how accurate that statement would turn out to prove to be.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Mr. Marcus Crowley arrived punctually for his appointment later that same morning. He was a dapper if somewhat rotund alpha, about forty years of age and with one of those ‘stubble beards’ which were currently fashionable for some inexplicable reason (I much preferred Cas' permanently-unshaven look, but then, I much preferred Cas any way I could have him!). Our visitor carried himself as if were fully aware of his status, but there was a haunted look in his eyes. Introductions were made, and he sat down in the fireside chair.  
   
“I know you are a man of some understanding, sir”, he said in a North of England accent. “And I know you pursue justice rather than the law. Even if I were inclined to try the latter, I am certain it would fail me. You are all I have.”  
   
He sounded almost desperate, I thought. Cas looked quizzically at him.  
   
“Someone of your status has many options open to them that most people do not”, he said. “Why come to me?”  
   
His reply caught me off guard.  
   
“Because of my dog.”

Well, that explained the collar, I thought. The thing that wore that had to have been an Afghan hound, at least.  
   
“I married my good lady wife Rachel some ten years ago”, he said, “and we have been blessed with two wonderful sons, Mark, an alpha, and Sextus, a beta. Since they were of an age that we thought they could manage the responsibility, we agreed to their frequent pesterings to obtain a dog. My country house is in the Hertfordshire village of Watton-at-Stone, and we have a large back garden as well as nearby fields, so all was set fair – until they returned from the dog’s home with the mangiest, most pitiful excuse for a canine I had ever set eyes on! Gentlemen, I cannot describe the sheer ugliness of the beast! It is part-bulldog, part-some sort of terrier, but mostly just ugly! Yet when they brought it home, the damned thing somehow managed to clamber up into my chair and plonked itself on top of me, and those eyes…..”  
   
His own eyes had gone wet at the memory.  
   
“A dog can worm its way into a man’s heart as easily as a child”, Cas said softly.  
   
“He did”, Mr. Crowley said. “The boys called him Growley, partly because of his strange attraction to me – I could not stop anywhere in the house without him attempting to plaster himself on top of me – but mostly because the white patch on what passes for his face vaguely resembles a letter ‘G’. He was the lamest excuse for a dog that ever was, but we all loved him.”  
   
“And now he is gone?” Cas asked.  
   
Our visitor nodded.  
   
“The damnable thing is, I know who has him!” he almost snarled, and I was reminded of the viciousness of the man we had with us. “I’d happily tear him limb from limb, and take my time doing it, but he told me in a letter – and he boasted about it – that Growley was being kept under guard, and the two men posted on him had instructions to shoot the dog at once if any rescue attempt was made. My wife and children would be heartbroken if that happened. Gentlemen, I am desperate!”  
   
I could see how near he was to tears, and I felt moved despite the man’s status. His dog clearly meant everything to him, and the threat to its life was terrible. Cas pressed his fingers together in thought.  
   
“I will help you”, he said, “but I will need full details on the man who has your dog.”  
   
Our visitor seemed to relax at that.  
   
“Thank you, sir”, he said fervently. “The man’s name is Sir George Baskerville, of Greystock Hall, not far from my house and just outside the town of Hitchin. We crossed swords over the purchase of some land that lay between our properties, and I know that he resented losing out to me. I did not appreciate as to how much until it was too late.”  
   
Cas nodded.  
   
“I am aware of the man”, he said. “One of the less reputable businessmen to grace our fair city; I have heard of his ruining people to make a few extra pounds profit. You are absolutely certain that he has the dog, and is not just taking advantage of its disappearance?”  
   
“He told me of a second small distinctive mark behind poor Growley’s ear, one only someone who had got extremely close could have known about”, our visitor said. “My sons are desperate to get the dog back – naturally I have not told them about its whereabouts – and my wife is grievously upset.”  
   
“Have you any information on the man’s family?” Cas asked. 

Our visitor looked surprised.  
   
“Yes”, he said. “He is married, with four children. Rachel says that his wife helps out at local functions. Is that important?”  
   
“It may be for what I have in mind”, Cas said with a smile. “If you would be so good as to leave us a card, I will contact you when we have news.”  
   
Mr. Crowley bowed, placed a single card on the table and left.  
   
+~+~+  
   
“You are help the criminal classes again?” I observed once we were alone.  
   
“That man is one of the top criminals of our generation”, Cas said thoughtfully, “yet he has been brought low because something he loves has been taken from him, and he fears it may never be returned. I am far from an emotional man, but I can empathize. Perhaps in view of Hampshire, you might too?”  
   
I blushed, reminded all too vividly of how passionately I had feared that something I valued so highly might be taken away from me. I looked across at my blue-eyed genius of a friend and wondered; what if some tragedy were to take him out of my life? I would surely be unable to cope.

I could not know that I was barely a year and a half away from experiencing that particular horror for real.  
   
II  
   
I had read through Mr. Crowley’s file on Sir George Baskerville with interest. It was certainly very thorough. The man was in his fifties, and had married a Miss Ophelia Williams some twenty-five years ago, their having subsequently had four children together. Of these children, George had married (apparently against his parents' wishes) and had two sons of his own, Albert was engaged to a lady who owned a small flower-shop in the city (this match had also been opposed, though less strongly than that of the eldest son), Victoria had managed not to annoy her parents by marrying a businessman and moving to his home in Cheshire, where she was expecting her first child in a few months, whilst Alice was still single and living at home. There was further information about servants and such that I did not find at all interesting, and it annoyed me somewhat that Cas told me the answer to our case lay in the dossier.

Cas made a couple of journeys out on the two days of the week when I was attending the surgery (by this time I had taken on more private clients, and also wanted more time for my writings), but he did not inform me of any results of these travels. Until one evening when he told me we had been invited by his brother Gabriel to dine at the new hotel. When I stared at him suspiciously, he laughed.

“You always suspect me of some underhand motive, doctor”, he chuckled.

“Often with good reason”, I said pointedly. “So I can be sure that our dinner this evening will be uneventful?”

Aha! He blushed and looked away.

“A free meal at one of the best hotels in London”, he said teasingly. “And the chance to all but close this case for Mr. Crowley.”

“And get his dog back?” I asked.

“Eventually”, Cas said. “Will you come?”

“Of course”, I said. “I cannot let you go roaming around the city on your own. Heaven only knows what trouble you would get into!”

He smiled, and I went to get ready.

+~+~+

The restaurant at the Savoy was far more high-class than any place I had ever dined in before, and I felt half afraid to touch the crockery and plates, which I could never have afforded. The gentle sound of a piano playing in the background did little to soothe my nerves at being so obviously out of my natural environment. 

We were shown to our table by Gabriel Novak, who for some reason always made me feel slightly uncomfortable. He very obviously shared his family's dislike of our relationship, but he knew full well that voicing those objections would cause Cas to cut him off rather than me, and he was visibly restraining himself from comment. He was also noticeably wary around Cas, who looked pointedly at him before he sat down. I wondered why. We ordered our meals, and then watched as other people filtered into the restaurant.

An opulently-dressed lady seated herself at a table across from our own, her neck glistening with a rather gaudy diamond necklace. The alpha who seated her before taking his own place opposite was smaller and mean-looking – I would have thought him a beta had he not been wearing a very visible alpha necklace - and even though I had no idea who he was, I disliked him on sight. Any alpha who wore such fripperies was, in my opinion, openly declaring their insecurities. 

Gabriel Novak appeared at the lady's side as if by magic, and she ordered for both of them in a tone that reminded me of a barking spaniel. I noted that she did not bother to inquire as to what her husband wanted. Cas leaned across the table.

“Sir George and Lady Ophelia Baskerville”, he said.

The canine kidnapper, I thought. Then I noticed that Gabriel Novak was saying something to Lady Ophelia, who shot to attention before rising to her feet and sailing across the floor to our table. Her husband scurried after her. I was reminded of our recent case with another formidable member of the fairer sex, Mrs. Emmeline Strong. I could easily guess as to who wore the trousers in this relationship, too.

“Mr. Castiel Novak?” she barked. Half the people in the room must have heard her.

We both stood and bowed.

“I am Lady Ophelia Baskerville, and I demand your services on a most important matter”, she said, even more loudly. “I have been the victim of a most heinous and unpardonable crime!”

“Madam”, Cas said smoothly, “I shall of course be delighted to hear your case. However, as we are both dining at this estimable institution, may I suggest that we continue our meals, and that we then adjourn to your room here so you can explain exactly what it is you require, and how I may be of service to so noble a family as yours.”

I stared, dumbfounded! Lady Ophelia was forty-five if she was a day, but she was now openly simpering at Cas. What on earth was it about the man that made virtually ever woman he met act like a teenage girl? And then she actually sighed!

I did not growl defensively. Whatever Cas aid afterwards!

“Of course”, she said, and Heavens to Betsy, she was now batting her eyelashes at him! “We are in room thirty-one. I shall look forward to seeing you... both there.” 

She turned to her husband, and her tone changed markedly.

“George!”

Sir George Baskerville might be a terror of the City of London, but he clearly knew his place where his wife was concerned. He scurried back across the room and held her chair ready for her. I hid my smile in a glass of water.

+~+~+

Room thirty-one was positively cavernous, and Lady Baskerville was waiting for us on the couch. I took the table and held my notebook ready, whilst the lady's husband stood by the fire, scowling slightly. Cas sat in the chair next to the couch.

“Now, Lady Ophelia”, he said firmly, “please tell me the circumstances of this horrible crime.”

She shuddered (so did the couch).

“I am glad to hear you call it by that name, Mr. Novak, because it was truly barbaric!” she said, wiping her eyes. “Earlier this week, some cruel, evil person stole Muffin!”

She seemed to think that this was self-explanatory. Cas pursed his lips.

“I shall, of course, need a full description of this 'Muffin'”, he said. How he uttered that name without laughing, I do not know. I was biting my lip and keeping my face hidden.

“Muffy-poos” (my eyes were watering at this point) “is my sweet darling boy, a magnificent top-quality pedigree King Charles Spaniel that George here obtained for me when my daughter Victoria married and moved to Cheshire”, she explained. “The finest of her breed, and we kept her beautifully, but the servants took her out into the garden on Monday and... and.... somebody managed to steal her!”

Cas tutted and pressed his fingers together in thought.

“Lady Baskerville”, he said carefully, “I must begin my investigation by asking you a question of some delicacy, but which is necessary for my understanding of the case. Is Muffin a male or female dog?”

“A bitch”, her husband said roundly. She turned on him.

“George!” she thundered. “Bedroom! Now!”

I wondered if 'Muffy-poos' had been as well-trained as Lady Ophelia's husband, who vanished quickly into the next room. The term 'fled' might have been appropriate.

III

“George is all well and good when it comes to business, but he has no sense for the important things in life”, she said starchily. “Why did you ask that question?”

Cas hesitated.

“You are a strong woman, Lady Ophelia”, he said slowly, “so I will be honest with you. As your dog is a high-quality pedigree hound, it is almost certain that she was stolen so that people could breed more high-quality pups from her.”

The lady went pale at the idea.

“But that also means that she will be exceptionally well taken-care of”, Cas hastened to add. “They will not wish to harm the goose that might lay them the golden eggs, as the saying goes. And it is unlikely that anything will happen in the next few weeks, because they will have to find an equally high-quality pedigree male dog, which will not be easy.”

“Will you come to Hertfordshire and investigate this horrible crime?” she demanded.

Cas shook his head.

“I think in this instance, it is better that I stay in London”, he said. When the lady looked set to object, he quickly continued. “For two reasons. Firstly, if they become aware that I am on the case, the thieves may hasten their, ahem, plans for your dear pet, and we most definitely do not want that, do we? And secondly, I have a number of contacts in the criminal world here who, I think, may prove useful in locating who is behind this most foul and loathsome deed.”

She looked a little put out that Cas was not returning home with her, but sighed in resignation.

“However”, he said, “I do think it is important that I have as many details as you can furnish, Lady Baskerville. I would like you to take the rest of this evening to write down exactly what happened on that day, with times if you can remember them, and the names of all the people involved. Then I would suggest that you get a good night's sleep, and when you wake up tomorrow, review your notes and see if you can recall anything else. I often find it surprising how many things people remember after they have thought and then rested. You return to Hertfordshire tomorrow?”

“Yes”, she said. “George, of course, is staying on for business.”

She said it with something approaching a sneer. I thought wryly that it was her husband's business which kept her in expensive clothes and jewels.

“Perhaps you could ask your husband to drop by Baker Street with your notes?” Cas suggested, rising to his feet. “This is my card. We had best leave you now so you can devote your attention to those important details of your most terrible day, and I can begin my investigations. I promise you that I will contact you directly I have news, and I hope that that may be very soon. Good day, Lady Baskerville.”

We left the room.

+~+~+

“You have the dog, don't you?” I asked, once we were safely ensconced back in our rooms at Baker Street.

To my surprise he shook his head.

“No”, he said. “Or at least, not directly. I employed the services of Mr. Albert Moray to secure him.”

“I have not met him”, I said.

“He is an unusual character”, Cas said. “He has this ability – I would go so far as to call it God-given – to attract any canine to his person, regardless of how loyal that dog may be to its owner. He is not a criminal as such; I would say he is more on the side of the dogs, and he will work for anyone provided that the interests of his canine friends are paramount. It was easy for him to lure Muffin away, and he has her safely at his house in the East End. She will probably be better cared for there than in Hertfordshire.”

“Might not Sir George work out that he is involved?” I wondered.

“Sir George and Mr. Moray do not move in the same circles”, Cas smiled. “I paid handsomely for Mr. Moray's services, for which I do not mind – he spends every penny he gets on his beloved dogs – but I full expect Lady Baskerville to compensate me when Muffin is returned.”

“Muffin”, I muttered. “She called it Muffin! Muffy-poos!”

We looked at each other, and both burst out laughing.

+~+~+

Sir George Baskerville arrived promptly the next morning with the promised notes. He was not in a good mood.

“I know your game, Mr. Novak!” he sneered. “You stole that dratted dog. Where is it?”

“Sit down, Sir George”, Cas said calmly. “It is cold out, and you look like you could do with a drink, despite what the doctor says about alcohol and cold weather. You will be delighted to know that Muffin is fine and well-cared for. As, I am sure, is Growley.”

The businessman glared at us both.

“You're working for that bastard Crowley, aren't you?” he said coarsely. “This is the sort of thing he'd do all right!”

“I assure you, the removal of your dog was my idea”, Cas said. “And his return is totally in your own hands. All you need do is to contact the men you have watching Growley, and order them to bring him here, safe and unharmed. Once he is restored to his rightful owner, Muffin will be returned to Lady Baskerville. She is safe and well cared-for, and quite probably enjoying her unscheduled holiday.”

“I'll have you for this!” he growled.

“I do not think so”, Cas said firmly. “Because if you take any retaliatory action against either the doctor or myself, or even Growley and his master, then your good lady wife will be informed of your role in this whole affair. And I do not need to be a detective of any calibre to know that she might not be best pleased!”

I do not think I have ever seen a man turn pale so quickly. He had been stood by the chair, but he almost fell to the floor in shock.

“You would not!” he said incredulously. “She would kill me!”

“Try me!” Cas said sharply. “Kindly ensure that Growley is delivered here early this afternoon, Sir George. I am expecting Mr. Crowley at five, so I would not wish to be delayed. The walk to the post office is a short one, and I did promise I would keep your wife informed by telegram of anything... important.”

He stared at us both with a fierce hatred, but he knew he had lost. With a snarl, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

IV

Growley was delivered to Baker Street just after lunch, and my first impression was that his owner had understated his absolute ugliness. He padded into the room after Cas, gave me a dirty look, then collapsed in front of the fire. Cas sat down in the chair next to him and unfolded his paper; the dog looked up at him, then seemed to dismiss him as harmless and went back to just lying there. The only odd thing about him (the ugliness apart) was, I realized, that he was fairly small, as, presumably, was Muffin. Yet the collar Cas had got in the post had definitely been for a much larger dog.

His owner arrived at a quarter to five, clearly anxious, and the dog was growling even before he was through the door, waddling over to him to be picked up and held against the man's chest. There was no doubt that this was an emotional reunion on both sides, and both Cas and I looked away for a while.

“I can never thank you enough, sir”, Mr. Crowley said once he had sat down, his dog on his lap living up to his name. “How did you manage it?”

“We all have our secrets”, Cas said with a smile. “It is a pleasure to bring you back together again, and I can assure you that Sir George Baskerville has been informed that any retaliatory action against Growley or yourself in the future would be most unwise on his part.”

The man petted his dog, who grunted in pleasure.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

To my surprise Cas shook his head.

“The price for my services in this case may be a high one for you, Mr. Crowley”, he said levelly. “Or it may be nothing at all. Because we move in similar circles, it may be that at some future time I have need of services only you can provide. Should that ever be the case, my price for the restoration of your family pet is that if or when that time comes, you answer my request for help, regardless of the cost.”

Our visitor looked anxious at that, but he was clearly in no mood to decline such a demand. He placed Growley on the floor and slipped a collar and lead on, then he and Cas shook hands and he left.

+~+~+

Of course, I had to say it. 

“I wonder why Gabriel sent you such a large dog-collar when he sought your help”, I said as we sat on the couch that evening. 

Cas blushed. I looked at him, confused.

“Gabriel was having a joke at my expense”, he said acidly. 

I still did not get it. He sighed.

“The collar was not for a canine”, he said quietly.

Then I got it. My mouth fell open.

“He thinks I treat you as some sort of pet!” I almost snapped.

He looked at me awkwardly, and finally, I did get it. Oh.

“The collar was for me, wasn't it”, I said quietly. It made sense now; the green markings around the outside. Cas nodded awkwardly.

“He even had a metal disk with your name put on it”, he said bitterly. “I told him I was half-minded to decline the case as a result!”

I thought about it for a moment, but then he surprised me by plastering himself over me on the couch.

“Stop that!” he ordered. “You're thinking that you're not worthy of me, or some such nonsense. I love you, Dean Winchester, and I would never do anything to or with you without your consent.”

I pulled him close, and sighed happily.

“I know”, I said. “But I still think we should not pass up such an opportunity.”

He looked at me in confusion. I grinned.

“I want to wear that collar for you”, I said. “Because I love you, and I trust you. And when I do, I am yours to command. Besides.... if I wear it tonight, then tomorrow you can write your brother and tell him that we used his 'gift'!”

He smirked at me.

“Doctor Winchester, you are a bad man!” he scolded. “And you deserve to be brought to heel!”

“Wuff wuff!” I teased.

+~+~+

Two days later, Gabriel's reply was an angry telegram threatening to disown his brother. The day after that, Cas received a long letter of gratitude from Lady Baskerville for the safe return of Muffin, who was apparently no worse for her adventure. Though she added that, for some strange reason, her husband had recently developed an allergy to dog hair.....

+~+~+

In our next adventure, a certain detective lies dying, and Cas starts cooking fast and fresh.....


	3. Case 62: Two Minutes To Midnight (1889)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Adventure of the Dying Detective'.

I

It was a bitterly cold September morning, and I was feeling particularly pleased. The reception to my latest story in the Strand magazine, 'The Girl Next Door', had been even more positive that I had hoped, and I was starting work on 'Stairway To Heaven' when Sergeant Baldur called round, for the first time for some months. He brought decidedly alarming news; Inspector Henriksen had been leading a raid on an opium den, and someone had stabbed him with a needle in the fracas that had followed. He was now seriously ill, and his doctors were working frantically to try to save him.

“It's my belief”, the young sergeant said firmly, “that this whole thing was set-up to make sure that the boss was there that day. He's been leading the investigations into several high-profile crimes of late, and I think someone wanted him stopped. Possibly even someone with connections inside the Metropolitan Police.”

“Pardon my being blunt”, I said, “but why not just shoot him?”

“Because this is infinitely worse”, the sergeant explained mournfully, an odd look on his handsome figure. “Morale at the station has gone through the floor, and all three investigations the boss was leading have all but ground to a halt. Someone wanted him to suffer a slow, lingering death as a warning to the rest of us to back off.”

Cas looked at him shrewdly.

“Are you not afraid that involving us will cause them to come after you yourself?” he asked gently. 

The blond sergeant shook his head.

“I live with the possibility of death every day on this job”, he said firmly. “Yes, I feel fear – but my determination to do what is right is strong enough for me to override that. If we all let our fears get the better of us, there would be anarchy!”

“But I might wager that maybe not all your fellow officers of the law feel the same”, Cas said. From the man’s blush I knew he had hit the nail on the head. “I presume Henriksen’s doctors have been unable to identify precisely what is wrong with him?”

“They think it some venom from a tropical country, and that is all they have!” our visitor said scornfully. “I am fast losing hope on the whole thing.”

“Do not despair just yet”, Cas said comfortingly. “Whoever brought this into the country would surely have brought in the antidote as well, just in case the vile concoction be turned against them or someone they know. Now, do you have details of the three cases Henriksen was investigating?”

Sergeant Baldur nodded, and produced three brown files from his bag, two of which were quite bulky. 

“The slim one is an assault on a customer at a grocery store in Euston”, he said. “The boss was only investigating that because the local station handled it so badly that the victim's mate submitted a formal complaint, and the top brass thought that putting an inspector from another station in charge would show that we meant business. An omega named Archibald Barrow was attacked by a beta whilst shopping alone, apparently without motive.”

“That sounds innocuous”, Cas said, “but we should not dismiss it. What else?”

Our visitor turned to the first of the two bulky folders.

“This is the most promising one, in my opinion”, he said. “A series of shady bank transactions in three independent banks, each of which collapsed soon afterwards. Definitely the sort of thing that a top criminal would want to avoid having the boss looking into. Those businessmen are worse than many of the so-called criminals we catch and lock up, in my humble opinion!”

“I tend to agree”, Cas said. “And the final case?”

“This is one I didn’t even know the boss was looking into”, he said. “I had to jemmy open the boss’ locked desk drawer to get at it. And I really hope it’s not this one.”

“Why?” Cas asked. “What is it?”

“Two top policeman resigned in the East End recently, both having ‘unexpectedly come into an inheritance’”, he said. “In each case it resulted in a shuffling round of officers, and two of the new constables who came in at the bottom had what one might call interesting pasts. The boss' notes suggested that the old man wondered if the old guard retiring had been paid off, so that constables who could be trusted to 'look the other way' could be put in place on certain beats.”

“I hope it is not that”, I said. “That would severely weaken my faith in the bobbies on the beat.”

“Three possible cases”, Cas mused. “But only one motive. Someone wants the Metropolitan Police to back away from or at least not see whatever nefarious scheme they are undertaking, and is prepared to go to considerable lengths to get it. Because obtaining that venom would not have come cheap.”

“What about our recent acquaintance, Mr. Crowley?” I suggested.

Cas shook his head.

“His sister is married to a policeman, and besides, this is not his style”, he said. “No, we are dealing with something else here. Something rather worrisome, I fear.”

He was to be proven all too right.

+~+~+

An outbreak of the winter flu decided to belie its name that year, and struck hard at London all through a bitterly cold September. I was kept busy with my regular clients as well as at the surgery, and I guessed that Cas was working towards solving our case as quickly as he could. The doctors had managed to put together a palliative which had slowed the venom’s progress, but Henriksen was still slowly worsening. 

Finally, at the end of September, we had a break. Cas managed to obtain a lead which led to one of the men who had escaped the fracas in which Henriksen was infected being arrested, although predictably he refused to talk without a lawyer present, and would say nothing about what he knew. Sergeant Baldur was bitterly frustrated.

“He knows that whoever is ultimately behind this will either look after his family if he goes to jail provided he keeps his mouth shut, or end them if he talks”, he sighed as he slumped into the fireside chair in Baker Street. “And that is enough to keep him silent, damn the man!”

Cas thought for a moment.

“Perhaps you are being too conventional in your approach”, he said mildly. “I have an idea which might persuade the man to be a little more co-operative, at least as regards our mutual friend. What is the man’s name?”

“Garrod Robinson, and it took twenty-four hours just to get that out of the rat. I think he has enough aliases to fill several streets!”

“Can you hold him until tonight?” Cas asked.

Sergeant Baldur looked at him curiously.

“Yes”, he said slowly. “What are you thinking of doing?”

“It is probably better that you do not know”, Cas said. “I hope to be able to communicate an address to you some time tonight, and you might try to arrange to have several men ready to go there with all speed. I think, if all goes to plan, it will be a fruitful journey.”

II

I had just one client that day, so I left for Homerton whilst Cas made whatever preparations he deemed necessary. When I returned, I found a message asking me to meet him at an old warehouse in the docks, and to come well wrapped up as we would be right down on the riverside. I complied, but when I arrived and met him, I got an awful shock.

“What are you wearing?” I managed at last. He was dressed up like an old-fashioned colonial gentleman, a dapper white suit, cane and panama hat. It rather suited him, strange as it was. He smiled at me.

“Unfortunately I cannot have you at the centre of things as I would like”, he said a little ruefully, “but there are some offices which overlook where I hope tonight’s action will take place, and you will easily be able to see and hear through the missing windows without being spotted. Though I think the only person who matters may have more pressing matters to attend to!”

Thus unfairly piquing my curiosity, he led me into the warehouse. In the dim moonlight there seemed to be something large and black sitting in the middle of the floor; bizarrely it looked like a giant cauldron. There was even a smattering of straw around the base. Cas led me up the stairs and into an empty office, and I made myself comfortable and settled down to wait.

I had not, unfortunately, had the foresight to bring a book or some other method of passing the time, so the next half-hour passed slowly for me, until I heard the sound of a scuffle going on outside the warehouse. Shortly afterwards, four large black alphas came into view. They were dragging a short, scruffy beta with them, but more noticeable was that all four of his assailants appeared to be savages fresh from a nearby hunt, dressed in feathers, loincloths and frankly very little else, though I noted that each had a rather large knife. Their victim was blabbering and clearly terrified.

There was, I noticed for the first time, a large table with leather straps on it, presumably for the victim. The four savages ignored it for the moment and dragged the man up to where Cas was sat impassively on a huge chair that was almost a throne, raised as it was on a low dais. He looked almost disinterestedly down at the new arrival. Then he smiled a slow smile, and I gave silent thanks that this great man had never chosen to follow a life of crime. Because that smile was pure evil.

“Mr. Garrod Robinson”, he growled. “So nice of you to join us for dinner.”

“Dinner?” the man squeaked, looking fearfully around. The four men had retreated to barely a step away from him, as if ready to strike. The flash of steel from at least one knife glinted in the darkness.

“Of course”, Cas beamed. “Not quite your conventional dinner invitation, I am afraid. Because after all, there is every likelihood that you will be dinner.”

The trapped men let out a pitiful moan.  
   
“It really is all your own fault”, Cas said in a put-upon way, fanning himself with an expensive-looking paper fan. “The man you poisoned may be a policeman, and I am not overly fond of the law myself…..”  
   
“I didn’t poison him!” the small man blurted out. “That was Al…”  
   
“I am afraid that I tend to view accomplices as being as guilty as the people they assist”, Cas said flatly. “Naturally I myself abhor violence, but the dying man’s friends here…. well, they are, I believe the saying is in your country, another pot of fish.”  
   
One of the four men growled and prodded the prone man with a stick, and he whined piteously. Cas waved an arm at the attacker, and he quickly backed off.  
   
“Now I myself would be quite prepared to let my friends here have their way with you”, Cas said, “provided, of course, that I do not have to see it. Cold steel unnerves me somewhat, and I dislike the sight of blood intensely. However, it is your great and happy circumstance that the poisoned man, as well as being a friend to these dear gentlemen, is married to someone who is a passably close acquaintance of my good self, and I am therefore reluctant to see him leave this mortal coil before his time, even if he is a policeman. So out of the kindness of my heart, I am prepared to offer you a deal.”  
   
The trapped man looked up hopefully.  
   
“I don’t know the big boss man”, he said fearfully. “Really, I don’t!”  
   
“But you know who keeps the antidote that would cure the policeman”, Cas said smoothly. “Or at the very least you know who concocted this venom, and that knowledge alone would enable his doctors to make their own antidote. I need a name. Preferably, at least as regards your continued existence in this world, within the next sixty seconds.”  
   
He pointedly turned over a small hour-glass on a table next to him. The man looked at the four huge men surrounding him.  
   
“What’re they gonna do?” he asked.

Cas sighed again.  
   
“In their native land, it is custom to avenge the death of a friend by killing at least one of the people involved”, Cas said calmly. “They prefer to cut a number of non-fatal wounds in the victim’s body, then slowly boil them alive for several hours, to make sure they suffer for as long as possible. I believe they managed to keep their last their victim alive for up to twelve hours, if I recall correctly. Though I myself prefer not to be around when the screaming starts. Even earplugs tend to be ineffective against it, in my experience.”  
   
One of the black men surrounding the trapped man poked him again, then said something unintelligible to Cas. My friend merely gave him a long look, and the huge man whimpered and bowed his head, retreating quickly into the darkness.  
   
“It seems that they are quite keen to get started”, Cas said plaintively. “If you cannot help me with my inquiries – yes, Kintabe, be patient! – then I suppose I will just have to let them have their way with you. Ah well.”  
   
He stood as if to leave, and the four men closed in on their victim.  
   
“No! Wait!”  
   
Cas remained standing, as the man frantically took a scrap of paper and a pencil out of his pocket and hastily scribbled something down. One of the four men snatched it from him and took it to Cas, bowing twice before handing it over. Cas held the paper behind him, and someone invisible in the darkness took it, then he said something to the four men, who nodded and themselves withdrew into the dark.  
   
“Tea break?” the small man quipped. Cas raised an eyebrow.  
   
“Why would they do that?” he asked politely. “After all, they could be dining very soon. On fresh meat!”  
   
The trapped man sank into himself even further.  
   
III  
   
It must have been about an hour later, when the sound of a tribal drum began to echo softly around the warehouse. Cas looked up with a frown.  
   
“Oh dear”, he said. 

I doubt that those two words have ever been uttered quite so ominously. The trapped man managed to look even more terrified.  
   
“Wha... what is it?” he asked anxiously.  
   
“It seems either they did not reach your man in time, or possibly that he chose not to co-operate”, Cas said resignedly. “The drum is the final precursor to Stage One of the ritual.”  
   
I had not thought it possible for the man to go any paler, but he did so. 

“Stage One?” he asked tremulously.  
   
“Oh, did I not mention that?” Cas said airily. “Silly me! Yes, Stage One is where they put you to death, as slowly and painfully as possible, as I described earlier. Stage Two is where they eliminate those of the first separation.”  
   
“Separation?” the man said, clearly confused.  
   
“Of blood”, Cas said. “You know, father, mother, sisters, brothers. Plus, of course, all children. Thankfully they don’t treat them to the same method as you, or I would have things to say about that. I do have standards when it comes to such things. No, a quick knife across the throat as they are walking down the street normally suffices. Most victims hardly feel a thing, so I am told.”  
   
“You… you would kill my whole family?” the man gasped.  
   
“Well, not your dear wife, of course, as she is not blood” Cas said. “And I must say, Mr. Robinson, that I really resent your use of the second person singular in that sentence. I have no intention of killing anybody. You brought this solely on yourself, and you must live with the consequences. Though as the drumming only normally lasts for about ten minutes, you will not be living with them for much longer!”

Even I shuddered at the lazy evil in that smile.  
   
“No!” the man yelled. “You can’t touch my kids!”  
   
“As I said, I shall not be doing anything to them whatsoever”, Cas said, taking out his pocket-watch and looking at it. “It is a pity, really. I always told Mrs. Henriksen that her husband would investigate someone one day who would take exception to his keenness, but he just would not listen. Now he has paid the ultimate price. So, soon, shall you.”  
   
“I can tell you why we were sent after him!” the man yelled. “Someone was setting up a string of bobbies in the East End who would look the other way when wanted. That stupid darkie kept sticking his damn nose in, so we were told to….. aaarrghh!!”  
   
One of the black men, now adorned with tribal war-paint, had emerged silently from the shadows and was holding a large serrated blade like a scimitar. The small man was actually crying in fear.  
   
“I really think it is unwise of you to refer to my dear friend as a ‘darkie’, whatever that is”, Cas said coolly. “But congratulations.”  
   
That simple word seemed to terrify the man even more.  
   
“Wha... what do you mean?” he demanded.  
   
“Well, since you have told us which crime my friend was investigating, it will be easy to work out the person behind it”, Cas said. “Though I dare say they might be less than pleased at your having dropped them in it so spectacularly.”  
   
“Have mercy!” the man begged.  
   
Cas sighed in exasperation, and looked at his pocket-watch.  
   
“Well, since you have in a way partially assuaged your guilt – no Busir, put that down at once! – I suppose I am morally obliged show some gratitude”, Cas said reluctantly. “This really is incredibly tiresome. Hmm. There is a ship leaving the West India Docks at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, the 'Spirit of the West'. If you and your family can be on the quayside before then, I suppose I could ask the captain if there is room for you all. Nothing special, mind.”

The tallest of the huge men growled, and Cas barked something unintelligible at him. He sank to the floor, shivering in terror.

“Bad boy, Malto!” Cas said angrily. “You know full well that you can’t have a piece of him for your collection; I’ve told you about that sort of thing before. I really cannot cope with opening my desk draw and finding body parts in it again! Besides, it upsets the cleaning staff too.”  
   
The tall savage whined piteously and cowered as he stared up at him, clearly fearful of some form of retribution. Cas waved a dismissive hand at him, and he shuffled back into the shadows, clearly glad to be away from that look. Cas turned his stare back to the small man grovelling on the floor before him.  
   
“It is less than twelve hours until the ship leaves, Mr. Robinson”, he said pointedly. “Unless you wish Kintabe to take you home?”  
   
Kintabe looked positively gleeful at the prospect and nodded, his white teeth gleaming in the dark. The small man screamed before fleeing through to where an open door was letting in the moonlight at the back of the warehouse. I waited until he had gone for some little time before descending to meet my friend, taking care to avoid the four huge men.  
   
Except all four were now gathered around Cas, who was handing out money to each of them. He grinned as I approached.  
   
“Doctor”, he smiled. “A most successful outcome.”  
   
“Except for poor Henriksen”, I felt the need to point out.

IV  
   
To my surprise he chuckled.  
   
“Victor is fine”, he said. “He will make a full recovery. Mr. Robinson’s address was raided less than fifteen minutes after he handed me the note, and Sergeant Baldur sent me a telegram saying that they had found the antidote and that it would have been administered to his friend by the time I read it.”  
   
I smiled, but kept my distance from the four huge men. Cas laughed again.  
   
“Sorry, Dean, I should have introduced you”, he said, pointing to each of the tall men in turn. “Meet John, Fred, Bill and Mike.”  
   
I stared incredulously at ‘Kintabe’, or Mike as he now apparently was. 

“The missus loves your articles in the Strand”, he said politely, and he sounded like he was fresh from an elocution lesson. I was dimly aware that my mouth was hanging open, but my brain seemed to have temporarily lost all function.

“Mike is a professor at London University”, Cas said, evidently enjoying my discomfiture a little too much. “Fred and Bill own a chain of fruiterer's in the East End, and John runs his own painting and decorating firm.”

“More than just 'darkies', eh doctor?” Fred said with a smile, and I pulled myself together.

“That was amazing!” I said. “I believed every minute of it!”

“I hope so”, Mike said. “The missus will kill me if I can't get the paint off. But it's always a pleasure doing business with our friend Mr. Castiel. We'll go and change back to our normal clothes now, if that's all right, sir?”

“Quite all right”, Cas said with a smile, “and again, thank you all.”

The four men ambled off, chatting to each other. I shook my head, still stunned over it all.

“And Mr. Robinson?” I said.

“A new life in South Africa will probably suit him quite well”, Cas said, “especially once the criminal mastermind whose plans look set to unravel finds out it was he who talked.”

“Do you know who it was?” I asked.

His demeanour changed, becoming much more sombre.

“I am rather afraid that I do. It is that rising menace to society, Doctor Kurt Metatron.”

He looked so depressed that I felt for him. Besides, he looked unaccountably hot in that colonial outfit. A rather pleasant idea flittered into my head, and I moved closer to him.

“That hat is almost as sexy as your lumberjack one”, I murmured. “How about you taking me back to Baker Street, and then taking me wearing only the hat?”

Even in the semi-darkness, I could see his blue eyes turning almost black with desire. 

“On the table!” he almost snarled. “Now!”

I nodded frantically, and hurriedly divested myself of my clothing. Cas, typically, stripped off almost lazily, yet he was done the same time as I was. I clambered up onto the table, expecting it to be rough and covered in splinters, but it had been polished smooth. When Cas produced a pillow from beneath it, I glared at him.

“You planned this!” I said accusingly.

“I had hopes”, he smirked. “You are quite predictable when it comes to certain clothing kinks, Dean.”

My objections were stifled by an oil-covered finger pushing into my entrance, and transformed into a moan of pleasure. I was putty in this wonderful man's hands, and I did not even object when he slipped on the cock-ring before scissoring me open and pushing his way in. 

“A key lesson in life”, he said (and it always amazed me how he could be so coherent when fucking me into next week) “is that one should never judge by appearances. Those men are highly cultured and well-learned, yet you believed they were savages. The real savage often looks quite normal.”

And with that he changed his angle and went straight for my prostate, causing me to yelp in pain. I honestly thought I was going to break through the cock-ring – I had read that this was possible – but the damn thing held, and my eyes watered as he continued to pummel me. I was close to passing out when.... he stopped. I looked up at him in confusion, as he stood up and started getting dressed again.

“Cas!” I whined.

He grinned at me.

“We are going to get dressed and look like two normal alphas, then take a cab all the way back to Baker Street”, he smiled. “And only then am I going to remove the ring and finish you off.”

I stared at him in horror. A bumpy cab-ride all the way across London, with me in this state?

“That's....” I trailed off. He smirked at me.

“The act of a true savage?” he quipped. “Indeed.”

Sometimes I hated him!

+~+~+

I was off work the next day.

+~+~+

It was almost a month later that Sergeant Baldur called round to Baker Street. The set of his shoulders was very much that of a defeated man.

“It is bad news?” Cas asked.

He nodded.

“We have been unable to pin anything on that blasted Metatron”, he said glumly. “He was too careful, and too far removed from the people we could get at. But at least we removed the constables he planted at those stations in the East End, and the top brass are now on the lookout for any other such moves.”

“At least you have frustrated his designs twice now”, I said. 

I would have thought Cas would be pleased with such an achievement against so formidable an adversary, but instead he looked at me almost sadly.

“We may have won a couple of small-scale battles against this evil man”, he said gently, “but we are a long way from winning the war. If he ever establishes the sort of control that he so desires over the criminal activities that occur on a daily basis in this city, then the police may as well give up and go home. He will rule the place more effectively and more ruthlessly than a Bourbon monarch sitting on his Versailles throne!”

I shuddered. It was a grim picture.

+~+~+

Another precious gemstone would be the focus of our next case, which for the first time would take us to the beautiful Sussex Downs.....


	4. Case 63: Sympathy For The Devil (1889)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle'.

I

It was a bitterly cold Friday early in December, and London was more wet than Christmas-y. The young lady seated in the fireside chair in our rooms at 221B on that day was twenty-five years of age at most, plain of feature and modestly dressed. She had introduced herself as Miss Madeleine Brooks, and then said nothing. We spent some minutes in silent anticipation before Cas finally spoke.   
   
“I am sure the good doctor here overestimates my abilities in those stories he persists in writing”, he observes, “but it is customary for my potential clients to actually tell me what they require. And apart from the fact that you are quite obviously a maid with a caring master, suffer from a minor eye problem, and have travelled up from the south of England today with a companion, I am at a loss to explain your presence here.”  
   
She baulked at his perspicacity. I too was surprised.  
   
“How can you know all that, sir?” she asked querulously.  
   
“It is my business to know things that others do not”, Cas said airily. “You are physically robust, and the condition of your hands denotes some intense form of manual labour. Yet your general appearance is pristine, hence a life in service. There is the mark of a pair of spectacles around the bridge of your nose, and since such things are expensive, you must be at least adequately paid to be able to afford such an item; few in domestic service usually can. The London, Brighton & South Coast Railway Company issues tickets of a quite uniquely vile shade of green, such as the one you were holding when you entered. Finally, said ticket did not have the unique mark for a lady's compartment, so you had company.”  
   
She nodded at that.  
   
“The good doctor here does not overestimate you at all, sir”, she said. “I am here of my own volition, and it is only fair before I begin that I must tell you I have no way of paying for any services you can provide.”  
   
“But if you have read Winchester's writings, you will know both that I am independently wealthy and that I often take cases merely because they interest me”, Cas said smoothly. “And you do not appear to be the sort of person who would come all this way if you did not think you had something that would excite my curiosity. Come, tell me what brings you here today.”  
   
She took a deep breath and began.  
   
“I work for Lord Gideon DeVille”, she said, “and I am a housemaid at his country seat, Maidenbower, near the village of Partridge Green in the county of Sussex. Lord Gideon is a lovely old gentleman, and he even orders magazines just for the staff. That is how I came to read the tales of your adventures, and when certain recent events at the house caused me unease, I decided to take this opportunity to see if you might look into them. James, one of the footmen, and I were dispatched to open up the family's main London house for His Lordship's move there for the Christmas holiday. He – James – said I was a fool for coming here, but he agreed to wait in the restaurant opposite whilst I talked to you.”  
   
“I think before you start your tale fully, you might describe to me the people at Maidenbower”, Cas said. “In that way I may better understand the events you later relate.”  
   
She nodded.  
   
“His Lordship is an alpha in his fifties, and separated from his second wife”, she began. “His first marriage, I only recently learned, was one arranged by his father, which his intended lady was equally against. On her way back from the church she arranged that the man she truly loved, a beta, would 'kidnap' her, and when they were found a few months later, she was pregnant by him. The marriage was swiftly annulled, but it was ten years before His Lordship tried again, this time with an omega. Monseigneur Augustus gave him a daughter Mary and then twins, Louisa and Louis, an alpha.”

She hesitated.

“Sadly however, when Louis grew up he became something of a wastrel, and eventually His Lordship cut him off without a penny. That led to a final breach with his mate, who now lives in the lesser of his two London properties, just off Euston Square.”  
   
“At the house in recent times there have been five people. Miss Mary is now twenty-eight years of age, and Miss Louisa has just turned twenty-six.” She hesitated before continuing. “I am sorry to say that history appears to be repeating itself, in that Miss Mary has taken up with a most undesirable young man in the form of one Mr. Peregrine Thornby, an alpha who owns several factories in the North of England but who is, though I hesitate to say it, quite uncouth. Louisa hates him, and there have been several words spoken between the sisters over the matter.”  
   
“What happened to the wayward son, Louis?” I asked, scribbling hard to keep up.  
   
“He went out to Australia and apparently struck gold, but was killed in a bar fight”, she said, shuddering at the memory. “Such a wild country!”  
   
“Savagery takes many forms”, Cas said with a smile. “I must say, Miss Brooks, that I find your story thus far quite fascinating. Who is the fifth person of interest at this great house in the land of the South Saxons?”  
   
“Mr. Philoctetes Smith”, she said. “He is the estate manager, a beta, and is often to be found in the house. I think he may have some feelings towards Miss Louisa, but she shows no sign of returning them. Besides, he is almost forty years of age!”  
   
I smiled at her vehemence on the subject of age, particularly as my own thirty-eighth birthday lay barely a month ahead. Which was most definitely not something I wished to dwell on. Annoyingly I noticed the slight quirk at the edge of Cas' lips, which told me he knew quite well in which direction my thoughts had strayed, the bastard!  
   
“Fascinating as these people are, something must have happened to cause you to seek my assistance”, Cas pressed. “Pray tell us what that was.”  
   
She took a deep breath.  
   
“Mr. Smith had been pressing His Lordship to move his money away from land, and into other things”, she said. “That, of course, caused another argument between his daughters, with Mary supporting him and Louisa bitterly against such an act. Then an opportunity arose to acquire the famous Blue Carbuncle. I think the acquisition even made the newspapers, from what I heard amongst the servants' talk.”  
   
“I read about it”, I said. “A beautiful giant garnet, mined in East Africa and extremely valuable because of its rare colour. Blue garnets are almost unknown; I know that Her Majesty was recently presented with a green one, which is almost as rare.”  
   
“I understand His Lordship purchased the item solely as an investment”, our visitor continued, “though of course I know nothing about such things. Both his daughters wanted to have the stone set so they could wear it, but he refused, preferring to keep it in his safe.”  
   
Cas eyed her curiously.  
   
“You are fearful lest this gem be stolen?” he asked.   
   
She nodded.  
   
“His Lordship has been very good to me, and I do not like that he has so much of his wealth tied up in that small piece of crystal”, she said. “If anything were to happen to it, he could lose everything.”  
   
“You have someone in mind?” I asked.  
   
She sighed unhappily, then paused before speaking.  
   
“Gentlemen”, she said, “I am not at all superstitious. But I did chance to be in the room one time when the ladies were examining it, and I caught one brief glimpse. I tell you, something about it frightened me! All that money in something so small, yet it could disappear amongst the change in a gentleman’s pocket!”  
   
To my surprise, Cas shook his head.

II  
   
“No, Miss Brooks, that will not do at all”, he said firmly, shaking an admonitory finger at her. “You do not call in a consulting detective just because of a strange feeling that even you yourself do not fully believe in. You have seen something in that house, and it has made you anxious. Now, I will say that I am indeed inclined towards looking into this matter for you, and I am prepared to do so solely to satisfy my own curiosity, but you must be totally frank with me. What else do you know?”  
   
She blushed.  
   
“You will think it silly”, she muttered.  
   
“Bearing in mind some of the things that have been said in this room, I sincerely doubt that”, I assured her with a smile.  
   
“It is just….. something I overheard.”  
   
“Go on”, Cas urged. She took a deep breath.  
   
“It is mere gossip”, she said, blushing fiercely, “and I was not even the one to hear it. You see, we have this maid, Lily. She is slow-witted but hard-working, and has no imagination whatsoever. She had been very anxious the last few days, and yesterday she confided in me as to the cause. She had heard Mr. Thornby talking to someone in his bedroom…..”  
   
She stopped, clearly embarrassed.   
   
“Did this Lily know who he was talking to?” Cas asked.  
   
“No, except that it was a woman. And I know it cannot have been Miss Mary, because at the time, she always goes down to the village shop to purchase a weekly magazine she likes, the same time every week. Lily told me that she finished the room she was in, the one above the bedroom, just as the clock was striking ten, and when I checked later I found that Miss Mary had stayed in the village for much of that morning.”  
   
“Did she hear anything in particular?” Cas pressed. That brought on a further fit of blushing.   
   
“He – Mr. Thornby - seemed to be expressing some sort of…. affections towards the lady”, she said at last. “Unfortunately it is a large house, and several of the maids are young enough to attract the attentions of someone like that! I myself think that it was most probably Eunice, who does that room.”  
   
She almost spat out the last words in disgust. I suppressed a smile. Cas pressed his fingers together.  
   
“When does His Lordship next plan to come to London?” he asked.  
   
“Late Sunday”, she said.  
   
“I do not suppose if you happen to know if your master has had the stone valued at all?”  
   
“As a matter of fact, I know that he has not”, she said. “He spoke at dinner of getting that done whilst he was in the capital, and Mr. Smith recommended the services of a jeweller he knew to him.”  
   
Cas nodded, then turned to me.  
   
“Doctor”, he said casually, “how would you feel about a few breaths of fresh, Sussex air?”  
   
+~+~+  
   
I was surprised that Cas insisted that we decamp immediately to Victoria Station for the train to Horsham and thence to Partridge Green for Maidenbower.   
   
“From what that young lady has told me, I fully expect something to happen before His Lordship reaches London”, Cas said. “We are dealing with someone both bold and resourceful here, and I would not put it past them to kill for what they are after.”  
   
I felt comfortingly towards the pistol in my doctor’s bag. He looked knowingly at me.  
   
“Indeed, faithful friend”, he said heavily. “Though I hope we will not need to resort to such measures, if what I have planned works out. I intend to force the villain’s hand and make them strike at a time of my choosing, not theirs.”

I nodded.

“So”, he went on, “you are my walking social encyclopedia, doctor. What can you tell me about the DeVilles of Maidenbower?”

I scowled at him for that.

“Lord Gideon inherited from his elder brother Abanezer, who resigned the title to go to Africa”, I said stiffly. “Not widely regretted from what little I know; the Times called him a Deville by name and devil by nature. The new lord of Maidenbower is a much gentler person, by all accounts.”

“So much so that he has earned the sympathy of one of his maids, which may well be what saves his inheritance”, Cas said dryly. He leaned across and took my hand in his. “I am sorry for teasing you, Dean.”

I pouted, but I knew that once he gave me that imploring puppy-dog eyes look of his, I was lost. I sighed in resignation as our train swept through the Surrey countryside and towards the Downs.  
   
III

I have to say that the Downs took me by surprise in their late autumn glory. I had had to study history at school, and learn all about how the invading South Saxons drove the natives into the impenetrable depths of the huge forested hills beyond the coastal strip, and I suppose that in some way I still envisaged it as an untamed wilderness. Yet the area had a gentle and almost entrancing beauty about it, England at its very finest. I decided that when I retired from my practice, I would hope to have enough money to come and live here. In a cottage built for two.....  
   
Partridge Green Station was typical of many such affairs up and down the country. It often made me wonder that despite the newness of the Railway Age, there was something distinctly English about a train shuffling slowly through the hedgerows past stations and halts, binding the countryside together. A sleepy porter carried our bags out to a waiting cab, and Cas tipped him rather more generously than his service had merited, in my opinion.  
   
Maidenbower turned out to be an almost palatial building, with some definitive Elizabethan parts to the front. Our driver told us that it had been built on the site of an old priory, the monks having been amongst the many evicted by that old tyrant Henry the Eighth, and that the DeVilles had held the estate ever since the Restoration over two centuries before. We drove up to a massive oak front door, and were soon admitted to the building. Lord Gideon DeVille was clearly surprised at our presence, but Cas soon explained all.  
   
“The doctor and I were sorting out a small matter for an important personage in the area”, he said, “and since my friend has been full of stories concerning the Blue Carbuncle, I decided to humour him and come here. If, of course, you do not mind showing it to two passing strangers.”  
   
“Of course not”, the old man said. “Why, sir, you are justifiably famous for your deeds. Come, let us go to my study and we can observe the jewel in peace.”  
   
We followed him out of the reception room across the hall to a solid-looking door, which he unlocked with one of his keys.  
   
“I am pleased to see you take security seriously”, Cas observed.  
   
Our host chuckled.  
   
“Much of my estate is tied up in those few ounces of precious stone, sir”, he said. “My safe is actually built into and sealed into the stone floor, and it has both a key and a combination lock, both of which only I hold.”  
   
“Surely that is a little dangerous?” Cas ventured. “God forbid, but if anything were to happen to your good self….”  
   
“I employ two lawyers, one of whom keeps a copy of the key and the other the combination”, he explained. “In the event of my not writing to them at the start of each quarter, they are instructed to come to the estate and bring what will be needed to access the stone. My daughters actually wanted to wear the thing out in public, would you believe, but of course I refused.”  
   
“Very wise”, I said.  
   
Our host unlocked the safe and paused before taking out a silken pouch, from which he extracted a sparkling blue gemstone. He handed it over to Cas, who looked at it appraisingly.  
   
“Very clever”, he muttered.  
   
I looked at him, surprised. Our host chuckled.  
   
“I can see that you have a fine eye for quality, Mr. Novak”, he said, retrieving the gemstone. “It is, of course a fake.”  
   
He replaced the stone in a pouch before putting both back in the safe. Then he reached far into the back and pulled some sort of lever. There was a faint grinding noise, and he extracted a small wooden box which he handed to Cas. My friend opened it and took the second gemstone over to the window, where he looked at it appraisingly.  
   
“This, on the other hand, is the real thing”, he said firmly. “Pray, who came up with the ingenious device of a false stone and a hidden compartment?”  
   
“My estate manager, Mr. Smith”, the nobleman said. “He was very keen on getting my money out of land, which is only right as the return has fallen sharply of late, but was worried that my holding such a stone in the house would attract thieves. I have not informed the rest of my family, none of whom could tell the real stone from the impostor.  
   
“May I be allowed to examine the mechanism at the back of the safe?” Cas asked politely.  
   
“Of course, sir.”  
   
With typical Cas absent-mindedness he reached into the back of the safe whilst still holding the gemstone and felt around, then pulled his hand out, dislodging the pouch with the fake stone in it as he did so. He apologized to the nobleman and replaced both stones in their correct places, before allowing our host to lock the safe. Once he had finished, Cas spoke earnestly.   
   
“I do not wish to worry you, Lord Gideon, but I am of the firm belief that an attempt will be made to take this stone from you, and quite soon.”  
   
The man paled.   
   
“That would ruin me!” he said, shuddering.  
   
“Having seen your most excellent preparations, I have a plan which may forestall such an attempt”, Cas said. “I know that I ask much of you on so short an acquaintance, but would you be guided by me in this matter?”  
   
“Sir, I know from the good doctor’s books that you are always honourable in all you do”, he said firmly. “I trust you implicitly.”  
   
“Thank you”, Cas said, shooting me a glance. “Then this is what you must do….”  
   
+~+~+

Cas and I were invited to spend the night at Maidenbower, and we endured a difficult dinner with the other inhabitants of the house, most of whom I frankly disliked on sight. Miss Mary DeVille was overly made-up, loud, and spent much of the meal arguing with her almost equally unpleasant sister Miss Louisa. Mr. Peregrine Thornby reminded me vaguely of a vulture for some reason, though I also had the distinct feeling that I knew him from somewhere, possibly a past case perhaps. Only Mr. Philoctetes Smith, the estate manager, came across as calm and polite, and we discussed politics and my writings quite happily.  
   
It was at the end of dinner that our host remarked that Cas had advised him to get the carbuncle valued before his trip to London on Sunday, and insured for that trip just in case, and that a jeweller he had once helped out could come up from Littlehampton on Saturday morning. 

IV

I was a little surprised when, after coffee, Cas led me to the front door and I found a cab waiting outside. He chuckled at my expression.

“Lord Gideon has arranged for us to spend a night in the Folly”, he explained. 

I have to admit that I was excited at the prospect. I knew (from the social pages I sometimes read) that Lord Gideon's father Lord Abraham had had a tall tower constructed in the grounds, presumably to reflect the name of the place in that it was a maiden's bower, a structure with a guard room at the base and a bedroom at the top with an old-fashioned arched-window and balcony. 

Once we were inside, Cas showed me the set-up of the place. The guard-room at the base was a small bedroom, unusual of course because of the round walls, and the stairs led up to the bower.

“Mr. Smith says that the locals also call it Rapunzel's Tower” he smiled, fingering my hair as he did so. “Though your hair would need to grow as long as your brother's for that to be of any use.”

I pulled him against me, almost crushing him in the process. He sighed happily.

“No mentioning Sammy when it's fun times!” I insisted. “Besides, you were the one with long hair when we first met at Oxford.”

“Then I guess I had better be the damsel in distress”, he smirked, somehow slipping out of my grasp and making for the stairs. “Oh for a knight to rid me of that distress!”

He sprinted up the stairs, and I loped after him. Though when I made it to the room panting and almost exhausted by the fast climb, I nearly had a seizure. He was laid out on the bed, totally naked, his legs raised in anticipation.

“Going to kill me one of these days, Cas!” I grunted, hastily removing my own clothes. “I want to make it to retirement, so I can live somewhere like this. Maybe not a castle, but.....”

“Dean?”

“Uh?”

“Stop talking and get inside me!”

I almost fell over my shoes, and lumbered across the room to where, to my utter joy, the bastard had prepared himself so I could get straight in. I tried taking things slowly, but he used that incredibly flexible body of his to somehow impale himself on me, grunting in a mixture of pain and relief. I pushed him further back so I got strike his prostate, and soon enough he was coming violently, I following him over the edge just seconds later. 

I leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

“So”, I panted, “did that relieve you of all that distress, my damsel?”

Somehow me managed to flip me over until he was over me whilst I was still inside him. He grinned wolfishly.

“I'm not the one who's going to be wearing the silk panties all day tomorrow!” he smiled.

I stared at him in horror. He wouldn't!

+~+~+

I woke the next morning to find the bed empty, which was no surprise; Cas would always slip away in case a servant called to check up on us. I smiled at the memory of the night before, but the smile vanished when I saw that Cas had laid out my clothes for that day......

Oh. My God!

V

I met him downstairs, and he smirked at my barely-concealed discomfort. We walked across to the main house to find a somewhat reduced household, just Lord Gideon and his daughters. His Lordship led us into his study to talk.  
   
“What has happened?” I asked.  
   
“Both Mr. Thornby and Mr. Smith have disappeared”, Lord Gideon said flatly. “And one or both of them somehow managed to break into the safe and steal the Blue Carbuncle. We are ruined!”  
   
Cas took the seat opposite the nobleman, and sighed.  
   
“I have a tale to tell you”, he said. “I am afraid some parts of it, you will find depressing, my lord.”  
   
“I do not think I could feel any lower than I do now”, the nobleman said with a heavy sigh.

“It is the story of a wayward son who abandons his father and moves to start a new life abroad”, Cas said. “He buys a ticket to Liverpool and tells his family he is heading to Australia, but instead he uses the money he has managed to secure to set himself up as a businessman in the North of England. And all the time, he quietly monitors from afar the family he has disgraced and who have thus disowned him.”  
   
Lord Gideon looked at him warily, but said nothing.  
   
“The son is determined to reclaim his inheritance, but he knows there is no chance through the law, as his father has settled the estate on his two daughters and very firmly barred his son from any chance of ever inheriting. But then he has a lucky break. The estate acquires a new manager who he, ahem, persuades to work with him. The manager proposes to his master the idea of investing the estate's value into precious stones, in other words, something a man could easily carry away in his own pocket.”

I stared at Cas, feeling in some way that I had just missed something there. Unfortunately the movement resulting from that caused a certain feeling down below, and I blushed, mercifully unnoticed by either of them. 

“The wayward son is by this time unrecognizable”, Cas continued, “five years older, heavier and bearded, and he persuades his new friend to introduce him to his own elder sister, to whom he subsequently proposes marriage. They become engaged, but of course there can be no union. The ruse is merely to allow the wayward son into the house, and he spends as much time as possible away 'on business'. He also plays the rake, earning the distrust of his father who, inadvertently, comes to rely even more on his estate manager for advice. Which was entirely what both men had planned.”

“The manager then suggests the blind of a false gemstone, with the real one concealed behind a false panel at the back of the safe”, Cas continued. “Of course he is merely waiting for a chance to switch the stones around, most probably when his master travels up to London shortly. He has had a key made, and he has made sure to learn the combination, as his master does not suspect him of any ill intent. The son will most probably fake an illness, promising to follow on in a day or so, and all is set fair for the rogues.”

“But then there arises a problem. An untimely visitor says he can bring in an expert to value the stone, and to their horror this has been arranged for the very next day. A quick consultation, and a theft is effected that same night, the two men rushing from the house.”

Lord Gideon groaned. Cas reached across and patted his knee.

“This tale has two more parts to it”, he said comfortingly. “A concerned housemaid, having reason to doubt the man who the master's eldest daughter has become engaged to, had already taken advantage of being sent ahead to London to call on a certain consulting detective, who reasoned that action must be taken, and quickly. He and his friend travelled down to the house where all this was taking place, and whilst examining the stone, the detective apparently clumsily knocked the fake stone to the floor. It is to his advantage that working with criminals has taught him certain sleight of hand skills that, just occasionally, come in quite useful.”

Cas picked up the remaining stone in the safe and handed it to Lord Gideon, who held it up to where it shone in the flickering firelight. We both stared at it in shocked silence, until the nobleman slowly took it down again.

“The real one!” he said incredulously.

“The real one”, Cas said with a nod. “Your son is probably waiting for a ship to some distant shore right now, unaware that the box in his pocket contains the paste replica.”

“And Mr. Smith”, the baron asked.

“Ah.”

We all looked at Cas. That did not sound good.

“I did say that there was a second part to my story”, he said carefully. “It struck me from analyzing your son's character that he was not the sort to share his ill-gotten gains with a stranger. I am sorry to have to say this, my lord, but I have a distinct feeling that if you drain the ornamental lake over which the road into and out of this house passes, I think it quite likely that you will find your late estate manager therein.”

“But why did Mr. Smith agree to work with my son?” Lord Gideon demanded. “For money?”

Cas looked across at me. 

“Did you notice how Mr. Smith's voice had never broken?” he asked quietly. 

For some little time I had no idea what he was talking about – until it suddenly hit me. Mr. Thornby, in reality Mr. Louis DeVille, had not been wooing one of the serving girls when Miss Brooks had chanced to overhear him. He had been..... 

Oh.

“The doctor and I must be back to London”, Cas said briskly, “but we will call in at the village police station and inform them of developments. And we shall ensure that your local constable telegraphs his superiors as soon as possible. Thanks to the advent of modern communications, I feel sure that we shall soon be able to track down a thief and a murderer.”

I thanked our host, who was clearly still trying to work out Cas' meaning, and hurried upstairs to pack. Hurried as in ran.

+~+~+

For once, Cas was proven wrong about capturing Mr. Louis DeVille, whose escape was eventually tracked down to the cutter Fernandina, bound for Bombay. Unfortunately this discovery occurred a day too late to catch him when the ship called at Cape Town, although he was definitely on board when it left as the ship did not disembark any passengers there. I say that because three days later the Fernandina was lost in a storm whilst crossing the treacherous Indian Ocean. 

Cas was of course proven right about the lake, the body of the slain Mr. Philoctetes Smith being dragged from it the day after we left, a single bullet wound to the head. The whole experience quite deterred Lord Gideon from his venture into the gemstone market, but he sold the Blue Carbuncle for twenty-five percent above what he paid for it, and lived very well off that money for the rest of his days. 

+~+~+

In our next case, a man foresees his house being burgled, whilst I meet an unexpected – and unwelcome – face from my past that I was not even aware of.  
 


	5. Case 64: Time Is On My Side (1890)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Adventure of the Copper Beeches'.

I

Our next (published) case together would not take place until March of eighteen hundred and ninety. Two months prior, I had very reluctantly marked my thirty-eighth birthday. Well, reluctantly to start with, until Cas had made it a day to remember. I was sore for the rest of January!

It was the first day of February on which I received a most unpleasant surprise. A telegram arrived from Sammy, which I assumed at first was merely about his wife's pregnancy, Jessica being due to give birth in late March. It was, however, nothing of the sort.

“I have a brother!” I said vehemently at breakfast upon reading the missive.

Cas squinted at me over his first coffee of the day. In my shock I had forgotten to wait for him to become fully coherent. 

“I know”, he growled.

“No”, I said testily. “I have another brother. Sammy's just been contacted by a young beta just turned twenty-one, by the name of Adam Milligan. It turns out that whilst our mother lay dying, our father was raising a second family a few miles away in Bamburgh. He was with one Miss Katherine Milligan, and left her a signed letter admitting his paternity of their son.”

Cas downed his coffee and sighed.

“What will you do about it?” he asked. 

“What is there to do?” I asked resignedly. “What's done is done. I never had much respect for my father when he was alive, but this just about takes the biscuit!”

Cas started on his second coffee.

“Is the boy doing all right?” he asked.

I re-read the missive.

“Sammy says that he made contact because his mother passed on and bequeathed him our father's note”, I said. 

“Do you want to go up and meet him?” Cas asked. 

“I am not sure”, I said. “I cannot see that we have much in common, apart from a useless father.

“And I suppose you are almost old enough to be his father!” Cas teased. I scowled at him for that. 

“I suppose I had better go”, I said resignedly. “What a mess!”

+~+~+

Fortunately my meeting with my newly-acquired half-brother passed off better that I had hoped, or feared. Mr. Adam Milligan reminded me a little of myself at his age, and I felt every one of the seventeen years I had on him. He worked as a teacher's assistant in Bamburgh, at the same school Sammy and I had once attended, so he seemed set up financially, at least. It was also pleasant to see Sammy and my heavily-pregnant sister-in-law when I journeyed on to Berwick-on-Tweed, and I spent an enjoyable weekend in the North.

Cas, typically, insisted on paying for my train ride and the sleeper carriage on the Sunday back to London, as well as arranging with the surgery for me to go in a little later than usual on the Monday. I wondered at that bit – the train arrived at King's Cross at half-past six, plenty of time for me to get the the surgery at my usual hour – but saw the wisdom in it in that it allowed me to go via Baker Street and Mrs. Harvelle's delicious breakfast. Indeed, I was almost surprised to open the door to our rooms and to not have the smell of a hot breakfast ready for me.

I was rather more surprised when a blue-eyed genius appeared out of nowhere and began assaulting my lips, pawing at me in what seemed like desperation. I gasped in shock.

“My bedroom!” he growled. 

I blushed, but my objections were swept aside as I was manhandled across the room, through the door and onto the bed, where Cas all but ripped my trousers off of me. Then he hesitated. I was sure my red face could probably be seen from miles away.

“You wore the panties!” he growled, and incredibly his voice had got even lower. He looked up, and to my surprise he looked almost uncertain. “For me?”

I gulped, and nodded. The smirk I got in return was positively feral.

“I thought I could wear them all day, and then come home to you so we could..... you know”, I blurted out. He chuckled darkly.

“Dean Winchester, you are one naughty alpha!” he said reprovingly. “You really should have remembered that I am never any good at waiting to unwrap my presents.”

Leaving my shirt on, he slipped his hands inside the panties and began to rub my aching cock, which was already painfully hard. I whined in ecstasy.

“I could slip the ring on you right now”, he said consideringly, and I looked at him in terror. “Make you spend all day wanting release, but knowing you can only have it this evening with me. That would make up for your leaving me here all alone this long, cold weekend.”

I moaned piteously.

“Luckily for you”, he grinned, “I want you now and later!”

And with that the tempo of his movements suddenly increased, and within seconds I was coming violently, all over my only recently donned shirt. I shuddered through the aftershocks of my orgasm as he gently unbuttoned my shirt and threw it over towards the wash basket, then ran his hands teasingly over my chest before tweaking my nipples. I may have been thirty-eight, but incredibly my cock was rising to attention again.

“Down boy!” Cas grinned. “I shall go and ring for breakfast. We want you well-fed before you start work today. You are going to need at least some energy for later this evening!”

And with a final tweak of each nipple he was off out of the door. I sighed and fell backwards into his bed, silently revelling in his scent. Perhaps I should go away for the weekend more often......

+~+~+

It was one of the great facets of Cas' character that he regarded all his clients and potential clients equally, even if that annoyed some who thought (more often than not wrongly) that they merited preferential treatment because of their higher status in society. Indeed, if anything, the latter were less likely to get his help due to their arrogant attitudes. Thus there was nothing that surprising in his welcoming a rather unusual potential client to our rooms. Fortunately it was two full days after my return, so at least I could sit down whilst only wincing slightly. 

Our new potential client – memorandum to self; I would have to check through my notes to find when I had started using the first person plural in these instances – was, as I have said, a little unusual. And short. And young.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Novak”, the boy said politely. He was pale and blond, an alpha of about thirteen years of age, and wore a grey grammar school uniform. “I know how busy you must be, but I have something rather unusual to lay before you today.”

My opinion of our visitor rose a notch. Clearly he knew how to speak to his elders. Cas nodded.

“Pray introduce yourself, and then state your case”, he said levelly.

“My name is Clarence Legant, and I live in Gants Hill, in the county of Essex. The village is named for my family, which can trace its ancestry back to King Edward the First. I am my parents' third son, and whilst both my elder brothers have an inclination towards the business world, I have always been of a more investigative turn of mind, and I have followed the doctor's writings of your adventures with great interest. I hope to become a policeman myself one day.”

Cas nodded. 

“So what brings you to us today?” he asked.

The boy hesitated.

II

“I think that there is a distinct probability that our property will be broken into, some time in the next few weeks."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but Cas seemed unperturbed.

“I presume that someone of your turn of mind has a reason for such a hypothesis?” he asked politely.

The boy nodded.

“My parents think it strange, but I read all the stories in the papers concerning crime quite closely”, he explained. “Two weeks ago, I was interested to find an article about a house called The Copper Beeches in Surbiton, In the county of Surrey. My interest was piqued because that is also the name of my own residence. It was a very small article, merely stating that someone had broken into the owner's garden and, for some reason, attacked a copper beech tree and scored great marks into it. The tree lies in the centre of the house's main lawn, but of course at this time of year such a thing would usually have gone unnoticed, except for the fact that the house owner chanced to order a swing installed for his grand-daughter. The writer put it down to an act of petty vandalism, but I find strange cases like that most interesting, and wrote it down in my notebook.”

“Go on”, Cas urged.

“Last week, there was an almost identical incident at a house in Dulwich”, the boy said. “Another house called The Copper Beeches. This house had two trees in its garden, and only one was attacked. It is not that I see any great danger in all this, but it is just.... strange.”

“I agree”, Cas said, to the boy's evident surprise. “And you were quite right to bring this matter to my attention. I shall take on this case, and if you write your full address down for me, I will make sure you are kept informed of any developments.”

The boy looked almost surprised that Cas had been so easily won over, but eagerly wrote down his details and handed them to me. Then he thanked us for our time and left. I looked at Cas thoughtfully.

“You think there is more to this than just arboreal vandalism?” I said.

“I am concerned”, Cas said. “Let us consider the facts. Unless we assume that some madman has developed an impassioned hatred for houses of that name and/or the fagus sylvatica purpurea, there must be a motive for these attacks. And the fact that they are spaced out suggests that someone is prepared to wait to let the fuss die down, lest someone spots a link between the attacks. It is his misfortune that an Essex schoolboy was so alert as to spot him after the second of his ventures.”

“You think there will be more?” I said.

“I am certain of it”, Cas said. “And the boy's house will quite likely be one of the targets. We know from his uniform that he attends Ilford Grammar School, so we may presume that he has gone there after visiting us, having told them he will be late for some reason. We shall take advantage of that fact and visit his house in Essex today, as it is one of your days off.”

“My writing days”, I said, slightly annoyed. I worked Wednesdays as a rule, but this particular month I had been asked to take Thursdays off instead to help cover another doctor's absence. I was sure that Cas thought I just wrote without thinking of our adventures together. My thoughts must have shown in my face, for he came over and took me by the shoulders.

“I am sorry, my friend”, he said sincerely. “I know much effort you put into your writings, and that I do not appreciate them as much as I should. I spoke before thinking.”

He looked at me earnestly, his blue eyes boring into me. How could I not forgive him when he looked at me like that?

“I shall go and get ready”, I said, a little gruffly. I would have made for my room, but he looked so dejected that I had to say it. “Apology accepted”, I muttered.

It was worth swallowing my pride to see that small but honest smile of his.

+~+~+

The Copper Beeches in Gants Hill was a large if not rambling house, set some way back from the main road. I could see no sign of the trees that gave it its name, so I presumed they were in the garden round the back. Mrs. Alice Legant was not at all surprised that her son had come to see us. She was a pleasantly-attired lady in her thirties, welcoming us into her lounge and summoning refreshments.

“I thought Clarrie was up to something”, she said. “He lives in his own world half the time, and when he said he had to go into London to buy something before heading into school, I did wonder. What is this all about, pray?”

The maid brought drinks and cakes, and Cas waited until she had gone before speaking.

“Your son has laid a most unusual case before me”, he said slowly. “Madam, I do not wish to alarm you, but from the few facts he has presented, I believe that there may be some danger to you and your family.”

She turned pale.

“What sort of danger?” she asked, trembling.

“All will be well if you and your husband follow my instructions precisely”, Cas said calmly. “Now, the situation, as I believe it, is this. Someone, quite probably a major criminal, has managed to leave a set of instructions as to the location of something valuable. The information has been split into several pieces, and each piece cut into a copper beech tree at a house near London called The Copper Beeches. A second person, and we must presume that they could be dangerous, is determined to find that message, record it and then destroy the evidence. He has attacked and damaged two trees already, and will almost certainly come here to retrieve what he needs from your own tree. The one thing in our favour is that he is allowing a short time to elapse between these attacks, not thinking that anyone will put two and two together before he is done. He reckoned without your unusually intelligent son, however.”

“You think he will come here?” she demanded.

“Madam, I am almost certain of it”, Cas said firmly. “However, both attacks took place in the small hours of the morning. All will be well provided that you and your family remain indoors at that time, and do not go out to investigate any sudden noises. This person may have a gun, and we do not want to expose you or your family to any danger. We know they carry a sharp knife, capable of inflicting major damage on something as large and strong as a beech tree.”

“Indeed”, she said, “and thank you for coming to inform us. Dear Clarrie, and to think the other boys make fun of him!”

“When your husband comes home tonight, you must explain things to him, and then make sure that everyone – family and servants – knows not to go outside even if they hear something”, Cas said. “I would suggest you merely tell the staff that a dangerous felon has been seen in the area, and you have been advised not to go out after dark. If it is acceptable to your good self, the doctor and I would in the meantime like to take a look at the garden, and see if we can locate the message ourselves.”

“Of course”, she said. “I shall get Clarabel to show you the way out through the back.” 

III

Half an hour later, I had decided that if I never saw another copper beech in my life, it would be too soon. The two specimens that gave the house its name were both about thirty feet tall, still yet to acquire their distinctive almost purple leaves this early in the season. I personally disliked this sort of thing, even though so much of what the Victorian world considered 'natural' was in fact either man-made or had been artificially bred to look that way. Something that looked that unnatural should not be made to look that unnatural....

I knew what I meant, anyway!

Cas was up the second of the two trees – I wondered sometimes if he was really the angel he was named after, as he ascended without any apparent difficulty whilst I, barely two and a half years older and not yet forty for quite some considerable time, would not even have attempted such a climb. I was trying to wrap my coat even more tightly around my frame when I heard an exclamation from above me.

“Hah!”

“What is it?” I called up.

“Someone has carved three things into the back of the tree, facing away from the house”, he called down. “A letter 'A' and the numbers 2 and 3.”

Incredibly, a couple of minutes later he was back on the ground next to me. I stared at him in astonishment. 

“Did you just jump?” I asked disbelievingly.

“It is safe provided you know how to land”, he said, dusting himself down. “Come, let us make our farewells to Mrs. Legant, and then hasten back to Baker Street. I wish to see if Balthazar has answered the telegram I sent him before we left.”

“Should we not perhaps efface the symbols?” I asked. Cas shook his head.

“We do not wish to alert the criminal”, he said. “Once he has obtained the other two symbols, he will move to secure his ultimate goal. Then we will have him.”

“How do you know he has only two more 'Copper Beeches' to visit?” I asked.

Cas smiled.

“Because having seen those symbols, I can say with some certainty exactly where he will be going after he has all the information he needs.”

“Where?” I demanded.

Cas finished cleaning himself off and ambled back towards the house. 

“I shall tell you once we get back to Baker Street!” he said teasingly.

Sometimes I hated him!

+~+~+

“Have you ever heard of the Helvetica Bank?”

We had got back, changed, had dinner, had coffee, and I was seriously contemplating actual bodily harm if he didn't get on with it and just tell me! Well, at least withholding sexual favours, for at least several minutes.

“No”, I said. “Something to do with Switzerland?”

“Only in the secrecy they grant their customers”, Cas said. “It is a small but powerful little institution in its own right, and they protect their customer's interests with guns and bullets if necessary. The London criminal fraternity are thus quite fond of them, particularly as they never ask awkward questions.”

“Must be annoying for those who want answers, then!” I grunted. He beamed at me.

“One of the things they specialize in is safe deposit boxes which have a number of keys”, he said. “Not physical keys, but a set of numbers and letters. If a criminal wishes to make sure no single individual can get at his ill-gotten gains, he can divide the twelve-figure code up amongst a number of people or places, so that each will need the other to obtain access.”

I got it.

“So a criminal carved a piece of the code into a tree on each property”, I said excitedly. “And now someone is going round collecting them, then destroying the carvings afterwards!”

“Indeed”, Cas said. “And thanks to the ever-efficient Balthazar, we also have a fair idea as to who that man is.”

He opened a slim folder on his desk.

“Mr. Geoffrey Side was executed last November for his part in the Maybridge Bank Robbery two months previous”, he said. “The proceeds of the robbery were never traced, and his two accomplices were both shot dead when the police tried to arrest them. However, Mr. Side did leave a son, Jonathan, who was away in Canada at the time of his execution. He returned in January, whereon the family lawyer gave him a letter from his late and un-lamented father.”

“And that letter contained the information as to how to piece together the clues!” I exclaimed. “By God, we have him! All we have to do is to wait for him to get the last two pieces of the puzzle, and then get him when he goes to the bank!”

To my surprise, Cas shook his head.

“No no, doctor” he said reprovingly. “This is the son of one of the smartest criminals of his kind. After the unfortunate discovery of his first attack, he will know full well that there is the danger that someone may piece together the reason behind the attacks, even if he waits a week between striking. He is playing for a huge sum, remember?”

I stared at him, nonplussed.

“What would you do, if you were in his shoes?” Cas asked.

“I am not a criminal”, I said, a little huffily. 

“Whereas I, in one sense, am”, Cas said. “At least in that I follow justice rather than the letter of the law. Very well. I know that there is the danger of detection, but that if anyone does find out what I am about, then they are likely to do as you did, and assume that I cannot access the bank until I have all four pieces of the code. But I am one step ahead of them. Although I have struck at two of my four targets, I have located the third, and plan to go there on the same night I strike at what everyone else may assume to be my third, but will in fact be my final target. Then I can go to the bank whilst those who think they are on to me are sat waiting for my fourth strike.”

I gulped. 

“What if he has already struck?” I asked.

“He has not”, Cas assured me. “Balthazar also found that apart from young Master Legant's residence and the two that have been visited thus far, there are only two other houses bearing that name anywhere near London, and that one of those only changed it from Berry Lodge in January of this year. Furthermore the remaining house happens to be in Tottenham, which is not that far from Gants Hill. Thus there is a strong chance that the Legants may be in some danger, which is why I warned them. Balthazar has conveyed a similar warning to the Smith family in Middlesex.”

I nodded. He seemed to have covered everything.

+~+~+

Our breakfast the following morning was interrupted by the arrival of a breathless Sergeant Baldur. 

“You were right, Mr. Novak”, he said, gratefully imbibing the proffered coffee. “And it so nearly ended badly for us. That idiot beta Mr. Smith went out into the garden despite our warnings, and got shot at.”

“Is it serious?” I asked.

“Fortunately just a flesh wound”, the sergeant said, relaxing a little. “Serves him right for ignoring instructions.”

“Some people feel very protective about their gardens”, Cas said. “You have a man posted outside the Helvetica Bank?”

“Three men”, Sergeant Baldur said heavily. “I did not want to take any chances. Mr. Jonathan Side is, regrettably, a chip off the old block, and we know for a fact that he has a weapon.”

“There is one question you might ask him when you catch him”, Cas said thoughtfully.

“What is that?”

“How he acquired the details of where houses of that name were situated”, Cas said. “It was easy for me with my brother and his connections, but I think someone like Mr, Side would find it rather more difficult.”

“I shall make a point of so doing”, the sergeant said firmly.

IV

As things turned out, he did not. Later that same day we received a most unwelcome visitor, at least in my opinion. Yet Mr. Balthazar Novak looked so serious that I was moved to at least shelve my dislike of the man. For a few minutes.

“You were right about Mr. Side”, the taller Novak said, sinking heavily into the guest fireside chair. “He attempted to retrieve something from the Helvetica Bank this morning.”

“Attempted?” I asked. “What went wrong?”

“The bank apparently refused to hand the item over, because the four-key code he handed over was incorrect”, our visitor explained. “The police got him when he emerged empty-handed.”

“Did he say anything as to how he acquired the information he needed?” Cas asked.

His brother laughed hollowly.

“Mr. Side did not say much at all. Because Mr. Side was shot dead with an air-rifle as the police were trying to get him into the police-van!”

I stared at him in horror, although I noticed that Cas did not seem overly surprised.

“Did your inquiries point to any particular person?” Cas asked his brother.

“Yes. And I am afraid it was just as you feared. A confederate of Doctor Kurt Metatron called at Mr. Side's house a few weeks back, and we can only presume that he helped the man in his search in return for a share of the potential proceeds. Which of course are most probably locked in the vaults of the Helvetica Bank, possibly forever.”

Cas smiled a small smile.

“Did you find the codes on the victim?” he asked.

“Yes”, his brother said, looking at him uncertainly. “Cassie, what do you know?”

Cas looked at him pointedly. His brother ground his teeth in frustration.

“Castiel, what do you know?”

The look continued.

“Please!” It was probably the most insincere use of that word that I had ever heard. The effort it took to grind it out was palpable.

“Do you have the codes on you?” Cas asked.

His brother handed over a long slip of paper, which Cas read before making a single adjustment to it and handing it back.

“If you take that to the Helvetica Bank, you should find the manager prepared to hand you over the contents of the box in question”, he said with a smile.

His brother read the paper and glared at him.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

“When the doctor and I visited Essex, I found the three symbols in the tree there”, Cas explained. “Since it was possible that the man had not yet been there, I decided to take an extra precaution, changing the '3' to an '8' with my knife and re-marking the other two symbols to match. I then rubbed the carvings to make them look old, just in case our thief did manage to slip his leash.”

“I wonder that this Doctor Metatron did not try to obtain the loot himself”, I said.

“We may assume that the late Mr. Geoffrey Side told his son that the code was inscribed in trees at houses of that name”, Cas said, “and that he only told Doctor Metatron that he needed access to the houses, not where it was. The doctor is not one to take risks when he has someone who will do his work for him. It is my belief that his main plan would have been to shoot young Side in broad daylight and take the money, but when he was arrested, he had to settle for eliminating the man to try to hide any link with him.”

“So that is three times you have frustrated his designs”, I said. 

“Yes”, Cas said heavily, “but I fear that he will keep trying.”

+~+~+

I was barely a year away from seeing the end of that 'trying'.

+~+~+

Our next case would see the reappearance of the formidable Miss Charlotta Bradbury.....


	6. Case 65: Red Sky At Morning (1890)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Adventure of the Red-Headed League'. And as requested, the return of Miss Charlotta Bradbury.

I

I glared almost resignedly at the unfinished manuscript for 'Bad Boys' on which I only had to do a final grammar and spelling check on before submitting it to the Strand magazine. It had been irritatingly difficult to get right, and my writer's block had made me grumpy and ill-tempered at both work and home. The magazine had been pestering me for it throughout May, and now here we were a few days away from the longest day of the year, and it still wasn't done.

I moaned as Cas thrust into me once more. Most mornings Cas woke up exceptionally slowly, but just occasionally he seemed to acquire a burst of sexual energy from somewhere that he just had to work out on me. Dear friend that I was, I bore with the inconvenience of having to be careful when sitting down all day without too much complaining (or smirking). But when he proceeded to make a love-bite where even my highest collar would not fully hide it, I was moved to protest. The last time he had done that, I had had to fend off decidedly awkward questions from several patients as to why an alpha allowed such behaviour from a lover.

“Cas!” I hissed.

He curtailed my objections by finishing his work with a kiss, then tweaking my nipples before forcing my legs even higher and going straight for my prostate. Mercifully he had not applied the cock-ring, but his hand was doing a perfectly adequate job in its place, and I could feel the water gathering in my eyes. 

“I love you!”

I had only a moment to savour the bliss of hearing that remark from my genius friend before my body belatedly realized that his death-grip had been replaced by a rapid rubbing of my over-sensitive cock, which erupted at full force, my come splattering onto his muscular chest. I only slowly came down from the nirvana he had taken me to, and was surprised to realize that he was not, as usual, cleaning us both off, but instead had rubbed himself and my ejaculate all over my chest. 

“Kinky!” I muttered. “But I still have to go to work today. Not until eleven, though.”

His erect cock rubbed against my own, and I could feel his breathing increasing until he too came, his own ejaculate trapped between our tightly-sealed bodies. He panted a little before smiling down at me, then looking at my bedside clock.

“Balthazar will be here in ten minutes”, he said lightly, pulling himself off me with a squelch and padding over the door. “Bags I the shower first!”

Any objections I could have raised would have been to the open door, and I groaned as I heard the bathroom door locked behind him. His brother already disliked me, and this was just rubbing it in.

In both senses.

+~+~+

Mr. Balthazar Novak may only have been a beta, but he would have to have been blind not to know what had happened just minutes before his arrival. Abandoning any hope of covering things up, I went for the dressing-gown rather than the shirt, Cas' love-bite radiant for all the world and his brother to see. He scowled at me, but fortunately he had more pressing matters to attend to than his brother's love life. Just as well. 

“We have a serious problem”, he scowled from the comfort of the fireside chair. It may have been 'flaming' June but it seemed that someone had forgotten to inform the British weather, and it was uncommonly cold. I felt annoyed that, once again, our guest was assuming his brother's assistance as if it was some right, whereas Cas always politely requested his elder sibling's aid when he needed it, never demanding it. Indeed, on one or two occasions in the past it had not been forthcoming, whilst Cas always answered his brother's calls for help.

“What is it?” Cas asked.

“Middleton's”, his brother said heavily.

The name was vaguely familiar from somewhere. Cas smiled at me.

“The information company for which Miss Charlotta Bradbury, who assisted us in the missing locomotive case, works”, he reminded me. He turned to his brother “What of them?” he demanded.

“That bastard Metatron is trying to get old man Middleton to work exclusively for him”, our visitor lamented. “It would be a complete disaster!”

“Why?” I asked. 

Cas turned to me, but not before shooting his brother a warning look. Balthazar Novak bit back on whatever biting comment he had been about to utter. I may or may not have smirked a bit.

“William Middleton is the greatest source of information in the city of London”, Cas explained. “What he doesn't know isn't worth knowing. They say that if a bird falls off a tree in Stepney, he knows about it before it hits the ground. He will sell any information to anyone for a price, unless he has reason to suspect it will be used to physically harm or even kill someone. The last person to misuse his information in that manner was found in the Thames less than an hour later. Or more precisely, at the bottom of the Thames. Miss Bradbury is his secretary.”

“He has always kept his business strictly neutral until now”, our visitor sniffed. “But he is looking to retire, and his son George is not of the same mettle. We know Metatron has been putting out feelers towards the boy, and they have not been rejected as we had hoped.”

“Is it because of the Red-Headed League?” Cas wondered.

“Who on earth are they?” I asked. I was learning all sorts of new things today.

“A potential rival to Middleton's, if they ever get established”, Balthazar Novak explained. “It claims to be descended from one of those infernal Italian family things, the Borgias and all that. Because people who are different always got picked on – still do, if it comes to that – the League was set up to defend the interests of gingers in society. Over time it began using information as leverage, and now it has appeared in London. That may be why the Middletons are prepared to abandon their neutrality, if as seems likely they perceive the League to be a threat.” 

“If Doctor Metatron gains access to the sort of information they possess, it would indeed be a disaster of the first magnitude”, Cas said. “I am surprised he has not moved against the League already, to try to win the Middletons over.”

“He almost certainly has”, his brother said. “The League had an office in Whitechapel, but it was burned to the ground just days after opening. There was a huge red '1' on the floor which, fortunately, turned out to be red paint. And a second set of offices met a similar end a few days later, except this time there was a big red '3' on a wall.”

Cas waited for me to note down that information before speaking. 

“Has anyone tried to approach Mr. William Middleton?” he asked.

“You know as well as I do that no-one ever 'approaches' Mr. William Middleton”, our visitor said pointedly. “At least not before getting past the ferocious Miss Bradbury.”

"Yes, she certainly out someone I know in their place", Cas said airily, looking everywhere but at his brother.

This time, I smirked for certain. Balthazar Novak scowled.

“Miss Charlotta Bradbury is quite possibly the second-most influential lady in the capital, after Her Majesty”, Cas said. “I recall now that her employment came as something of a surprise, as Mr. Middleton had traditionally only employed secretaries for a month at a time until she arrived. Yet she has held the post for over six years now.”

“A formidable lady”, I noted. 

Just how formidable, we were soon to find out.

II

Over the following week, four more attempts by the Red-Headed League to set up offices in the city went up in flames. Or more accurately, the first three went up in flames, and the fourth one ended when someone blew up the whole (mercifully empty) building! In each case a red painted number was left at the scene; a 5, an 8, a 9 and an 18. 

Eight days after Mr. Balthazar Novak's visit, an invitation arrived at Baker Street.

“It is to attend a meeting with Miss Bradbury”, Cas said reading it. “I quote, 'it is also advised that a representative of Doctor Kurt Metatron will be attending this meeting, as our organization considers its future policies. Kindly note that any attempt to bring weapons of any shape or form will not be well received'.”

“So they have summoned you”, I said. “I wonder why.”

He looked at me strangely.

“There was no name on the message, so I inadvertently opened it”, he said. “Miss Bradbury wishes to speak to you!”

I gulped.

+~+~+

The following day I went to Middleton's, a nondescript building in a row of shops near the Angel, Islington. I was immediately shown up to the offices of Miss Charlotta Bradbury. They were small and rather mean for so powerful a lady, and most decidedly dwarfed by the impressive studded oak door with the name of the company owner on it on a gleaming brass plate (I privately doubted that even a charging elephant would get through that!). There were also two of those chairs that I knew from experience sunk almost to the floor if one tried to sit in them, and a bookcase full of what appeared to be mostly second-hand books. Miss Bradbury gestured me towards one of the two far more sturdy chairs opposite her by the table, and I sat down obediently. 

About five minutes later a blond man was announced as 'Mr. Gadreel Evans' by a boy who I did not even see. The newcomer was another alpha of about my age, and had a mean-looking pinched face. 

“I will not make the introductions lengthy”, our hostess said, “because I am sure the two of you wish to have as little to do with each other as possible. Mr. Gadreel Evans, Doctor Dean Winchester. Time is money, gentlemen, so let us keep this short.”

I snapped to attention.

“A decision has been taken that, with the current instability caused by the advent of a potential rival in the city, our company's stated position of complete neutrality is considered no longer tenable. This is what is going to happen. You are each going to take a dossier back with you to your respective masters today; I am sorry, doctor, but you must leave her precisely twelve minutes after Mr. Evans as he has further to travel. We must have fairness, above all else.”

I nodded, noting my opponent's smirk.

“And Mr. Evans”, she said warningly, “if you try to telegraph the information ahead, I will know. And I shall not be pleased!”

The smirk vanished at once.

“The dossier will present a challenge to your masters, the answer to which is a number”, the lady continued. “When you or they think to have solved it, you and/or your agents may come back here and tell me, or you may send a telegram containing your answer. The first communication, by either method, will be accepted and considered. However, once I have received it or you have come and told me, then you must follow it up by stating your reasons within one hour, again by either method. An incorrect answer or a failed reasoning, and your opponent will automatically win. The prize will be that, whilst our company will continue to provide information to whoever pays for it, we will provide certain additional information to the winning side on a regular bases thereafter.”

“That sounds fair”, Mr. Evans said. “Anything else?”

She looked at him pointedly.

“Although I should not have to say this, I will”, she said firmly. “Your employer in particular, Mr. Evans, may consider that a preëmptive strike either immediately or in the event of a failed guess may be in his best interests. Believe me, it would not.” Her voice turned cold, and I flinched. “There is a huge dossier on the activities of not just your employer, but your good self. Including, I might add, a certain incident in Tulse Hill last year which features quite prominently. I consider myself fairly broad-minded in this day and age, but even I winced when I read that!”

My opponent gulped and turned bright red. Miss Bradbury pulled out a watch.

“Mr. Evans, you may leave now”, she said. “The twelve minutes begin the moment you pass that door. I suggest that you do not tarry.”

The blond man grabbed one of the two huge dossiers on the table and left hurriedly. I sat back and waited for the time to elapse.

+~+~+

Once back in Baker Street, I gave Cas the dossier I had taken.

“Surely we have the advantage?” I pressed. “Doctor Metatron has no-one he can call on with your abilities?”

“Except that if we get it wrong, we lose”, Cas said. “I must be one hundred per cent confident of our answer before giving it to Miss Bradbury.”

The dossier contained one immediate surprise – the attacks on the Red-Headed League had not, as we had thought, been the work of our rival but apparently of Middleton's itself, whose owner had not taken kindly to attempts to, as it was put, 'encroach on their turf'. The other contents were a school primer poster, which unrolled to reveal the alphabet and punctuation marks along the top and the numbers one to forty along the bottom, with pictures of various Greek myths along the middle. There was also an envelope containing a cigarette-card of an ironclad ship, the HMS Bellerophon.

“If the answer is a number", Cas said, "perhaps we may take it that the six numbers found in the Red-Headed League's buildings were the start of some sort of series. We have 1, 3, 5, 8, 9 and 18.”

“It does not make sense”, I frowned. “The gaps are 2, 2, 3, 1 and 9. It is neither arithmetic or geometric.”

“So what else could it be?” Cas asked. 

We both thought on the matter for some time.

“I did think of letters in each word”, I said. “Three letters in the word 'one', five in the word 'three', but then it breaks down.”

Cas stared at me curiously, then grinned. He grabbed the primer and made a few quick notes on a pad before turning to me.

“Doctor”, he said urgently, “you are a genius!”

“Eh?”

III

Cas hastily scribbled something on a piece of paper, then stood up.

“We must telegraph this to Miss Bradbury immediately”, he said. “I do not wish to risk a boy being intercepted by one of my rival's agents, as I would not put it past him to try to stop us.”

I looked at my watch.

“The local post office will be closed”, I observed.

“We will stop off at Euston Station and send one from there”, Cas said, hurrying to pull on his coat. “Or rather, I will drop you off outside and you will have to join me in Islington once you have sent it. It may even be that I beat the message to her offices.”

“Surely she will have gone home for the day?” I objected.

Cas chuckled.

“Somehow I think not”, he said. “Not when the future of the business is at stake. She will expecting one or both of us to solve the conundrum by tonight.”

I hurried to get ready, and we ran out of the room.

+~+~+

He was, of course, right. I arrived at Middleton's not long after Cas, and was shown up to Miss Bradbury's offices to find the two of them waiting for me.

“Well well, gentlemen”, she said. “You are venturing your answer to our little conundrum?”

“I am”, Cas said confidently. “Fortunately a guinea is an excellent motivational tool for the average London cab-driver, and I see we have beaten our telegram here.”

There was a knock at the door, and a small boy darted in, placed a message on the silver platter next to Miss Bradbury and stood smartly to attention. She opened it and read it.

“Only just, gentlemen”, she said. “No reply, Tom, thank you.”

The boy somehow managed to disappear without apparently leaving the room. Miss Bradbury eyed us cautiously. 

“A most interesting answer”, she said carefully.

The lady was good. There was not even the flicker of an emotion. Then she smiled knowingly.

“Your reputation does not understate your abilities, Mr. Novak”, she said. “You are correct. But of course you have provided only half of what was asked. Unless you can explain your reasoning, we may consider that you made a fortunate guess.”

Cas looked offended.

“I never 'guess', my lady”, he said, sniffing as if she had uttered an unpleasant word. “I have had my suspicions for the past week, but your conundrum, once Doctor Winchester here had provided me with the key to solving it, was the confirmation I needed.”

“Me?” I squeaked in surprise. He turned to me.

“You wondered whether the letters in each word might be the answer”, he said. “Of course that would have made the sequence 1, 3 and 5 to then go 4 ad infinitum, but that, coupled with the clues Miss Bradbury was so kind as to provide us with, showed me the correct answer.”

He turned back to the lady.

“It was an appropriate word that you chose”, he said. “The six numbers, when read on the primer you provided, matched against the letters A, C, E, H, I and R. I deduced that we were looking for a seven-letter word, and that the number that corresponded to the missing letter would be the answer. However, that still left several possibilities, as well you knew. Off the top of my head I could supply the words cashier, archive, chaired, plus the name Charlie, which would mean the missing letter could be an 'S', a 'V', a 'D' or an 'L'. And there were almost certainly rarer words which would only expand that field further.”

“Nine in all”, she said. “I am surprised you did not immediately think of one more.”

“I did not until I saw the picture of the warship”, Cas said. “I think you played us a little unfairly there, my lady.”

She smiled innocently. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Because that word, which was the correct one, has two possible spellings”, he said. “The old eight-letter version and the newer seven-letter one, which I would fathom is not even in some modern dictionaries. The ship gave me the clue.”

“How could a ship give you a clue?” I demanded.

“The ship was HMS Bellerophon”, Cas explained. “And in Greek mythology, which judging from that overladen bookcase is a major interest of someone in this establishment, the hero Bellerophon killed a beast called the chimera, or chimaera. The missing letter was therefore an 'M', which corresponds to the number thirteen.”

She nodded.

“You have done well”, she said. “You have solved the conundrum, and I am sure Middleton's will honour its side of the deal, however much that will doubtless annoy Doctor Metatron. The owner will be apprised of your success as soon as you have left.”

I expected Cas to stand at that point, but he remained seated.

IV

“I would have thought they knew already”, he said coolly.

She looked hard at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He chuckled.

“It really won't do, Miss Bradbury. Or perhaps I should call you 'Mr. Middleton'?”

A silence hung in the air between them, before she threw back her head and laughed. I stared at her in astonishment.

“Oh, you are good!” she said. “I knew you were trouble over that vanishing locomotive, but you are better than even the doctor's fascinating stories make you out to be. How did you know?”

“With access to one of the most powerful banks of information the world has ever known, I realized many years back that Mr. William Middleton was someone I needed either neutral or on my side”, Cas said. “You covered your tracks extremely well, my lady, but one or two tiny slips made me suspicious, and recent events only confirmed matters.”

“Such as?” she demanded at once.

“Mr. Middleton lived in a huge house, but kept no servants”, Cas said. “Perhaps not so strange for a recluse, except that the house only received a major burst of cleaning when he was 'away on holiday', a local firm being called in on each occasion. Yet when I examined the house close up – I am afraid that I did trespass on your property, though of course I did not know for certain that it was legally yours – everything was in surprisingly good condition. That suggested that someone was living there who maintained the house themselves, which from my little knowledge of the fake 'Mr. Middleton' made it look as if it was not him.”

“Go on”, he said.

“I dug further, and found a slight inconsistency in the family records”, Cas said. “A Mr. John Middleton, allegedly William's younger brother, was laid to rest five years ago in the family vault at St. Clement Danes. Yet when I spoke to an old servant who had worked for Mr. William Middleton's parents, she was certain that his mother had died in childbirth when William was born, and that the father had never remarried. A careful examination of the death certificates – you have an excellent taste in high-quality forgers, may I say? – showed that they had been tampered with. Only someone who was looking for such a thing would have spotted it.”

“Dad died five years ago”, she said with a sigh. “He always wanted me to take the business on after his death – George was useless, he always said - but he knew, as I did, that a woman running such an organization just wouldn't wash, even in this day and age. He actually set most of it up himself, you know. All I had to do was cover his tracks, then pretend that he was still alive and that I was just his secretary. He even made George's financial inheritance conditional on his never having anything to do with the business. He's been having great fun being courted by Doctor Metatron, but when dad's death is announced, he will not inherit.”

“That was also a clue”, Cas said. “An old man who averages one secretary a week does not suddenly decide to stay with one for over six years, as a rule. And I expect that you enjoyed that one of the possible answers to the conundrum was a short form of your own name.”

“It didn't help that I was born on the wrong side of the blanket”, Miss Bradbury said. “Mum was just a factory worker, and dad had a brief affair with her before his father sent him abroad for a few years. He never knew I existed until I rolled up eight years ago.”

She looked up, her eyes bright.

“I worked hard to get where I am today, gentlemen”, she said gruffly. “You know as well as I do how people would react if this got out. I am totally at your mercy.”

Cas rose to his feet. 

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Bradbury”, he said politely. “I look forward to further dealings with your company. Please extend our greetings to..... 'Mr. William Middleton'.”

She smiled at that. We shook hands and left.

+~+~+

We were standing outside looking for a cab when a small boy hurried up, looking up at the buildings and nearly running into us as he went.

“Steady young chap!”, I said. “Why the hurry?”

“Message for Miss Bradbury, at Middleton's”, he said, sounding anxious. “The guy who gave it me promised half a crown if I got back to him with an answer in under an hour. It's in Westminster, so I gotta run.”

“Short, thick-set gentleman with a stubbled beard?” I asked. He nodded.

Cas took out a half-crown and placed it in the boy's hand. He looked at it incredulously.

“Deliver your message”, Cas advised, “but when you return with the answer, take my advice and stand well back. It is not going to be well-received, and I doubt you will even get a farthing!”

“Cor!” the boy said, looking at wealth the like of which he had almost certainly never seen in his life before. “Thanks, guv'nor!”

“Good luck”, Cas smiled as the boy trotted into Middleton's.

“He'll need it”, I prophesied.

+~+~+

“There is still the Red-Headed League”, I observed later, as we were sat by the fire after a most pleasant dinner. Mrs. Harvelle's apple-pie was one of those heavenly miracles which did not occur often enough, in my humble opinion.

Cas chuckled.

“What is so funny?” I asked.

“Doctor, the Red-Headed League is pure fiction”, he said lazily. “It never existed.”

“But... how?” I spluttered.

“Consider the circumstances”, he said. “The resourceful Miss Bradbury knows that her organization is facing a challenge, especially as she plans to abandon its traditional neutrality and prefer the side of law and order. The criminal fraternity will not respond well, she correctly reasons. So what to do? She creates, if I may use the word, a chimera.”

“A chimera”, I said slowly.

“In the modern sense of an illusion”, Cas said. “A rival organization which tries repeatedly to encroach on her turf, only to be set fire to repeatedly and, finally, to have their building blown up beneath them. The message from 'Mr. Middleton' is loud and clear. Mess with us and we'll repeatedly set fire to you, and if you still don't get the message, we'll blast you to kingdom come. Anyone else thinking of taking them on would think twice when they stare at six sets of smoking ruins in barely a week.”

“That is brilliant!” I said.

“Indeed”, he said. “Miss Bradbury is, in her own way, as formidable as Mrs. Emmeline Strong, and probably even more dangerous. It is good to have her on our side in the coming conflict. We shall need every ally we can get.”

He was to soon be proven all too right.

+~+~+

Next, the story of the Matilda Briggs and the Giant Rat of Sumatra. And I come to do something that I will bitterly live to regret.


	7. Case 66: Dead In The Water (1890)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as 'the case of the Matilda Briggs and the Giant Rat of Sumatra'.

I

It was just over thirty years since Mr. Charles Darwin had published his great work, On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life (and to think; some people claimed my original story titles were too long!). That mankind had evolved from an ape-like ancestor that had, in different parts of the world produced monkeys and chimpanzees, was becoming accepted fact despite some still fierce opposition, and I remember once wondering if, as the white man explored further into the thus far hidden reaches of our planet, we might not find some other members of our family tree.

As things turned out, we had already found that something. Something extremely unpleasant.

+~+~+

A little history. The sight in eighteen hundred and seventy-one of Prussian cavalry riding through Paris had caused those countries bordering Germany to look to strengthen their defences lest they might be next. That same year the Dutch had signed a treaty with Great Britain, ceding their lands in the Gold Coast (Africa) in return for a free hand as to the island of Sumatra, where they wished to subdue the local tribes to secure their trade routes to the islands further east. Our country retained trading rights but no political ones as regards this huge island, over twice the size of the island of Britain and larger than the American state of California. This was why it was not unusual when, not long before we discovered this particular story, a ship called the Matilda Briggs arrived to London from Sumatra via Cape Town. Except that the cargo this ship was carrying would soon bring terror anew to a city only just recovering from the scourge that had been Jack the Ripper.

Cas' involvement in this case began with the killing of Captain Thomas Warner in September of eighteen hundred and ninety, an event which was brought to his attention by the captain's first mate, a likable old beta salt called Frederick Pyle. He had reported the death to Sergeant Baldur at the station, and had been advised to forward the case to us as the sergeant felt it might interest the great detective.

“I blame myself, sirs”, Mr. Pyle said, sniffing mournfully. “We were drinking down at the Anchor and Hope, not far from our ship, and he left early because he wanted to finish some paperwork. He had half an hour's start on me, and when I followed him....”

His voice trailed off, and he looked deathly pale.

“It was horrible, sirs”, he muttered. “He'd been mauled by some sort of creature, and there was hardly anything left of him. But by the red socks he always wore – lucky he called them, hah! - and his neckerchief, I knew it was him all right.”

Cas poured him another drink, which he accepted gratefully.

“Where precisely did you find the body?” he asked gently.

“Dew Street, sir, just above where it meets Garrovick Lane”, the sailor said. “There's a few posh places further down the Garrovick, where some of the men who've made their fortune from the ships live.”

“Was the place you found him on the way back to the ship?” Cas asked.

The sailor frowned in thought.

“No”, he said at last. “He should have turned left down Garrovick, not carried on. Is that important?”

“It suggests either that he may have been fleeing, or going to some assignation”, Cas explained. “What is the name of your ship, please?”

“The Matilda Briggs, sir. One of the best.” 

“Have you carried any unusual cargoes of late?”

There was definite hesitation before the 'no'. Cas pounced.

“Come, sir”, he said. “This man was clearly a friend, as well as a superior, or you would not be here. If you wish me to investigate his death, then I must have all the facts.”

The sailor nodded.

“I spoke truth sir; I have not myself been on any such voyages. However, for three months last year I was at home, waiting for my wife to give birth....”

“Successfully, I hope”, I put in. He smiled warmly.

“A son, Forrest, named after my wife's family”, he said. “I returned to the ship when she got back from her last trip out east, and several of the crew told me that it had not been a happy voyage. The master had agreed, reluctantly so they said, to transport something back from the island of Sumatra for a gentleman in London. No-one was allowed to see it, and it came with its own guard, who everyone said they hated. Of course us seamen are a superstitious sort, I know everyone says.”

“Superstition is sometimes justified”, Cas said. “Do you happen to know the name of the gentleman for whom this cargo was destined?”

“I do not, sir, but if you go see Tim Cash – he was my replacement for the voyage – he'd probably remember. He lives in Barrowby Street, number seventy-one. He's signed onto the Wayfarer since, for a trip to Norway or some such place, but she'll be back in port next Monday morning, most probably in the small hours.”

“Thank you”, Cas said. “I promise that I shall look into this case for you. If you write your address on the doctor's notepad, I shall communicate any findings I have to you.”

The seaman did so and left. I looked at my friend.

“This is serious, isn't it?” I ventured.

He nodded. It was after all barely a year since Cas' counsel had (when belatedly heeded) led to a man being placed in an asylum and the Ripper attacks immediately ceasing. The city was still on edge every time a death was even remotely suspicious, not helped by a number of what the police considered to be copy-cat crimes. If this was the start of some new big thing, it boded very ill.

+~+~+

Though I had no way of knowing the storm that would all too soon break over my happy life, I could not but be aware that the strain of working against Doctor Kurt Metatron was telling on Cas. He would sometimes doze off in the afternoon, his book falling to his side, and if I was there I would gently place a blanket over his sleeping form and go to my room to fret in silence. Against my expectations he became somewhat less demanding in bed, at least as coupling went. He increasingly seemed to prefer to just cuddle and hold me close, as if he was afraid I might be ripped away from him in some way. As if I would ever leave him! As if I could!

Cas' 'clinginess', for want of a better word, also manifested itself in a refusal to take on any case that would take him away from London. This had led to the first of what would be several angry confrontations with his brother Balthazar, when the previous month had seen the lounge-lizard demanding that Cas go down to some country house to sort out a political matter, and my friend had refused. Angry words were exchanged, and his brother went so far to slam the door on the way out, a mistake he did not repeat as Mrs. Harvelle met him in the hallway. With her rifle. She did not take well to people damaging her property, and she made him go all the way back up the stairs and shut the door quietly before she would let him leave. She was formidable (i.e. terrifying) like that.

Of course some people never learn, and Balthazar was back the following month, just after Mr. Pyle's visit, to again demand Cas' services. When he admitted that it was a matter in north-east Scotland – Morayshire, to be exact – Cas flatly refused to go. I had to leave at the same time when a telegram arrived from an important patient, and I did not want to go, but Cas insisted. Perhaps fortuitously it did turn out to be important, and I advised my patient to go into hospital immediately, even accompanying her there. Though I did have an ulterior motive; it enabled me to call in at the surgery on the way home to pick up something.

II

“I want to try something new tonight.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at me, clearly intrigued.

“Go on”, he said. He was always up to try new things, and often surprising (and sometimes shocking) me with his inventiveness. I led him to his bedroom, and got him to get undressed except for his underpants and lie face down on the bed.

“I have never done this before”, I said, “but I have seen it done, and read up on it.”

“You are trying to make me nervous, doctor”, he teased. 

I coated my hands in the unguent I had picked up from the surgery, and gently began to massage in the oil into his muscled back. He tensed for a moment, then sighed happily.

“That is good”, he said, sounding almost sleepy. “I could drop off just through this.”

“You deserve your rest”, I said, a little admonition in my voice. “You have been working too hard of late.”

I pressed deeper into a tense knot of muscle on his left side, and was rewarded both by its loosening and the happy purr he gave out when I pressed. Slowly I worked over his whole back, reducing him to the sort of blissed-out lump he normally became only after hot coupling, before finishing and wiping my hands clean. Then I gently moved him onto his side so I could slide next to him, and levered him up on top of me.

“It would be a shame to undo all that good work by letting you sleep on your back”, I said as he snuggled into my chest. “And I definitely do not mind being your pillow, Cas.”

“I love you”, he whispered into my neck, as he seemingly tried to crawl inside my body. “I will always love you, Dean. Always and forever.”

Those words should have made me happy, but I could not shake the growing feeling that this sort of happiness never really lasted for the Dean Winchesters of this world, and that somehow everything would unravel one way or another.

I was barely six months away from finding out how it would do just that.

+~+~+

The following week we headed to Barrowby Street to see Mr. Cash, the Wayfarer having docked the morning prior. It did not go quite as I might have expected. We were met at the door by a young omega who, when Cas stated his purpose, looked positively hostile.

“I'm not risking what happened to poor Cap'n Warner happening to dad”, he said firmly. “No questions.”

“May I at least hear that from him?” Cas asked.

The young man, who was quite well-built for an omega, looked set to respond until he caught sight of me for the first time. And his expression completely changed.

“Doctor Winchester!”

“Pardon?” I said. I did not know this man from Adam.

He chuckled.

“Of course you never actually met me”, he smiled, to my further confusion. “Eighty-three it was, seven years ago. You were treating one of the Woolstane-Neale sisters for a skin complaint.”

I did remember that, if only because the three ladies in question had been frankly awful. Not only did the house smell so strongly of lavender that it made me feel ill, but they were all quite rude, and far too full of themselves. 

“I remember them well”, I said ruefully. “Quite insufferable ladies!”

“Martin Cash; me and my sister Peg worked at the house then”, he explained. “Peg had much the same thing as Miss Rose, and those stuck-up toffs said it wasn't worth treating a servant. That was until you said that the longer anyone in the house had the disease, the more certain it was that one or both of them would become infected too.”

I blushed. I did not usually lie to my patients, but the Woolstane-Neales had rubbed me up the wrong way. Miss Lavinia had questioned me as to why the unction for the servants was a different one to that her sister had been given, and I had compounded my sins by telling her that the one her sister had was for the richest patients only. In truth I had merely added some walnut essence to the same preparation, knowing it would make my patient feel superior. I may or may not have also charged some way above my usual rate for that. Quite by accident, of course.

“Come on in, friend!”, Mr. Cash smiled. “I'm sure dad would love to meet you!”

Cas gave me a look as I passed him, and even though I could not see any outward sign of it, I knew he was smiling.

III

Mr. Timothy Cash did indeed have the information we wanted. 

“Me and the lads thought he had a woman down there”, he said. “The guy who was with the crate, he always took down enough food for two or three people; guess he thought us sailors were too dumb to notice something like that. None of us were allowed down there; Bob got yelled at for walking down the corridor just to get to the store room, for Christ's sake!”

“How big was the crate?” Cas asked.

“I only saw it being loaded, and then from a distance”, Mr. Cash said. “I'd say big enough so a man could sit hunched up inside, but not spread out. Maybe a yard all round, I dunno.”

“And the gentleman it was bound for?” Cas asked.

“Mr. Septimus Balliston-Wyre”, our host said at once. He smiled at my surprised expression. “The sailor who trained me up on my first ever ship, the 'Witch of Endor', he was a Septimus, and I thought of him holding a ball of wire. The name kinda stuck in the old noggin.”

“You have an excellent memory”, Cas said, placing a half-crown on the table. “I thank you for the valuable information. The doctor and I must set about finding this man, and seeing what he has to say for himself.

+~+~+

As things turned out, we did not get to see Mr. Septimus Balliston-Wyre. Or at least, not in the way we might have hoped. 

We journeyed back west, stopping at Cas' insistence at my favourite dining-place in Trafalgar Square. Whilst waiting for our food I purchased a newspaper from a vendor across the street, and perused it as Cas sucked on his pipe. Then I let out a sudden gasp.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“Listen to this!” I said. “'Police are investigating a savage killing in Conway Square, not far from Fenchurch Street railway station. At approximate nine o'clock this morning, servants at the house of a Mr. Septimus Balliston-Wyre discovered their master's body lying in the narrow mews that runs along the side of their house. The man had been savagely attacked, and early indications are that he died from either blood loss or shock. There were also found strange footmarks in the vicinity that suggest the presence of a large predator of some sort.'”

“I doubt that Mr. Balliston-Wyre was killed by a Bengal tiger that just happened to be passing through the East End”, Cas said dryly. “Is there anything else?”

“They have appended a sketch of one of the footmarks”, I said. “A rather poor quality one; it looks like a bird.”

“Well, unless the man was a reincarnation of Prometheus, we may rule out a giant eagle too”, Cas said. “This is most worrisome. Now we have no other choice but to sit and wait for further developments.”

+~+~+

Which is what we had to do. September gave way to October and the leaves began to tumble from the trees, but it seemed as if whatever had killed those two men – assuming it was one creature – had either moved on or met its own maker. That was, until the end of October, when the night of All Hallow's Eve saw a third attack.

“I do not know if it is good news or bad news that the victim survived”, I observed the following day, “since he was clearly drunk at the time.”

“I would dare say the victim disagrees with you on that point”, Cas said with a smile. 

A young sailor had been attacked, returning from a tavern to his ship. He had been badly mauled, but had got in a lucky blow which forced his attacker off. He had expected the assault to continue, but the attacker had fled, shrieking in pain. 

“He claims that he was attacked by a giant rat!” I said incredulously. “How many pints did he have, for Heaven's sake?”

Cas looked at me pointedly.

“Assuming as seems likely that Mr. Darwin is correct”, he said, “it is quite improbable that homo sapiens is the only species to survive the lottery that is evolution. And as we push into more remote parts of the world, the more likely it is that we may stumble across some of our less successful cousins.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Do you think that that was what Mr. Balliston-Wyre did?” I asked. “Or at least, that he purchased some rat-human creation that had been found out East?”

Cas frowned.

“I very much fear so”, he said. “If the thing did come to England courtesy of Captain Warner and his ship, that explains a lot. The only slight inconsistency is that this attack took place in over two miles from that on the captain, and three from the one on Mr. Balliston-Wyre. I would not have expected such a creature to move so far, as presumably victims were equally available in both those areas.”

“Maybe the Giant Rat of Sumatra needs a giant-sized hunting area?” I suggested. Cas shook his head.

“I have an idea”, he said. “It depends very much on when the next attack takes place.”

“You think there will be more attacks?” I asked.

“I am sure of it”, he said.

+~+~+

We interviewed the sailor, an alpha called Calum Buchanan, but obtained nothing new from him. He stuck to his story of a giant rat, complete with giant tail. I privately thought that some of his shipmates had been playing a joke on him, but as the month progressed, I was forced to revise that opinion. For Cas' prediction about further attacks proved horribly accurate. 

The third attack had been on a Friday, and on each Friday of that cold November, there was a further one. On the seventh a couple walking home from church were attacked, but the giant rat, or whatever it was, fled when the omega screamed for help and jabbed at it with his umbrella. On the fourteenth a female prostitute was found dead, again having been severely mauled, which of course led to a resurgence in Ripper stories in the newspapers. By the twenty-first people were unwilling to go out, and a young alpha was only saved from being the next victim because a policeman heard his cries for help and came running whilst blowing his whistle. A beta businessman returning home from the City was attacked seven days later, but survived his attack when passers-by came to his assistance, and recovered from his injuries after three days in hospital.

During this time, Cas was investigating something to do with all these attacks, although unusually he kept it from me. I knew the attacks were unsettling him, not just because of their very nature but due to the fact that I had to travel through this area to reach some of my clients, and he feared for me. I promised to take extra care when near any of the attack sites, and even started taking my gun with me just to make his feel less uneasy. I told myself that every day except Friday was safe, but I feared that with my luck, I might just end up being the victim who broke the pattern.

IV

It was the first Thursday in December, and the city was keyed up for what might be the next attack. It was a writing day for me, but the grim autumnal chill sapped my energy, and the pages remained stubbornly blank beneath my pen.

“I think I may have solved the case.”

I looked up sharply.

“The Giant Rat killings?” I asked.

“Yes”, he said. “You examined the bodies of the first two victims, did you not?”

I shuddered at the memories.

“What was left of them”, I corrected.

“And you found a piece of cloth caught in Captain Warner's moustache?” Cas said.

“Yes”, I said slowly. “What of it?”

“We are going hunting”, he said. “You will need your gun, and make sure it is fully loaded.”

That worried me, especially when I saw Cas taking out his own revolver and loading it. He was a far better shot than I, which suggested that whatever we were moving against needed several bullets to take it down. It was not just the cold December air that made me shiver.

We hired a carriage which took us to an old warehouse down in the docks. Once we were inside, Cas opened the bag he had brought with him. I did not know what to expect, but it was not what he pulled out.

“Books?” I queried. He looked at me.

“We may be in for a wait of several hours”, he said. “If all goes well, we may have more than one bird in the bag before the night is out.”

He handed me Æschylus, and I sat down on a rickety-looking wooden chair by a window that was so dirty, it barely admitted any light at all, even after Cas had given it a quick wipe-down. Our vigil began.

+~+~+

There had been two ships by the docks when he had arrived, and some hours later, there were signs of activity on one of them. It must have been close to midnight, an unusual time to load or unload anything that was not illegal, I thought. 

Four men came off the ship, and a fifth man emerged from the darkness to greet them. There was the sound of conversation, then the shortest of the four took the coat he was holding and began to slip it on. Except that it was no ordinary coat. I gasped, loud in the silence of the huge building. 

He was donning the costume of a giant rat!

“So that's it!” I hissed, as man became vermin. “The whole thing was a set-up to hide their nefarious dealings!”

Even though I could not see it, I knew Cas was smiling in the darkness. 

“The only road out is the one we came in on”, he whispered, “and the back door of this place faces onto it. Once our 'rat' has moved to secure tonight's victim, we shall be ready for him.”

I nodded, and readied myself for action.

+~+~+

Action there was, but not what either of us was expecting. After a further ten minutes, there was what sounded like a loud hiss from somewhere nearby, and all five men looked up in surprise. The next instant, something charged from the shadows and was amongst them, biting and tearing as they all tried to flee in panic. There was the sound of two gunshots, both muffled as if at extremely close range, and the sound of snarling and men screaming. It lasted for what seemed like an age but what was, most probably, under a minute before all was silent again. Cas and I looked at each other, readied our weapons and made our way out of the warehouse.

The scene that greeted us was horrific. The five men lay about us, but my attention was drawn to a sixth body on the edge of the quayside, which was far from human. It was as if someone had taken a rat and simply decided to make it three-quarter human-sized. It was, perhaps mercifully, almost dead. Cas did not hesitate before pushing it over the edge with his foot, and it disappeared with a splash into the dark water.

I quickly assessed the five men. Two, including the one half into the rat costume, were dead, and a third was beyond all mortal help. The fourth was not badly injured but had been stunned into unconsciousness. I turned to the fifth, who was bleeding badly. 

Then I stopped. Even though I had never met the man in person, I knew that face. Doctor Kurt Metatron.

I hesitated. The world seemed to slow down.

“Dean”, Cas said quietly, “you are a doctor. You know what you have to do.”

Damn him for reminding me, I did. Never had I wanted more to disobey the maxim of First Do No Harm, but I could not let a fellow human being die. The moment a doctor started taking it upon himself to choose who should live and die, he was on the road where good intentions paved the way to Hell. Much as the man was evil personified, I had to save him.

Sometimes I hated my job.

V

I managed to patch Doctor Metatron up, and Cas and I lifted him and his sole surviving shipmate on board the ship he had come off, where we found two beds to lay them on. Neither of us spoke as we worked; I was fighting my own inner demons, and my friend was understandingly silent. We left them and repaired to the nearest police station, where we handed over the rat costume and explained what had happened, edited to exclude what we knew to have made the attack. Once a group of policeman and a police doctor had been dispatched, we left for Baker Street.

It was after three in the morning when we finally stumbled into our apartments, and never had they felt more welcoming. I would have gone straight to my room and crashed onto my bed, but Cas restrained me with a vice-like grip.

“Doctor”, he said calmly, “you did what you had to do. You are too good a man to have done anything else.”

He steered me over to the cold fireside, and quickly laid a fire for us both, then poured us each a large whisky. I downed mine in a single shot, even though it burned my throat in so doing.

“I wanted to, though!” I almost snarled. “Hell, I'm little better than that thing that you pushed into the Thames!”

I was startled when he suddenly shot across the gap between us and grabbed me harshly by the shoulders. His blue eyes bored into my green ones.

“I knew you never would”, he said firmly. “I have always had faith in you, doctor. Why don't you believe in yourself?”

I stared back at him, shocked. He let go of me, and I pulled myself to my feet, standing close to him. Then, I broke, falling into his arms and sobbing. He froze for a moment, then held me gently.

Whether mercifully or not, there was a knock at the door, and we sprang apart as if we had both been burned. It was our landlady's daughter, Jo.

“Mother saw you come in, and made you some coffee if you wished it”, she said, bringing in a tray with a coffee-pot, some cups and two plates, one of which – Heavens to Betsy! - had a steaming pie with custard on it. I drew a ragged breath whilst Cas thanked her, and she withdrew. We ate in some silence before I spoke.

“How did you know?” I asked.

He sat back. 

“I initially dismissed the idea of the giant rat being real, I admit”, he said. “I suspected the first attack because it was so convenient, especially after the cloth you found.”

I stared at him in confusion.

“Convenient?” I asked.

“That the captain of the ship that brought in a mysterious cargo should then be the man to meet his maker struck me as rather too timely”, Cas said. “In reality the man was attacked from behind someone coming up and chloroforming him with a soaked cloth, then taking the body away so they could fake a rodent attack. Doctor Metatron intended to use the creature as cover for his own activities, so could not risk the one man who might know of its existence talking. The second attack, that on Mr. Balliston-Wyre, was the only real attack, and it was that that showed me the creature was most probably real.”

“But the other attacks were all staged?” I asked. He nodded.

“The fact that they always occurred on a Friday struck me as odd”, he said. “Rodents are notoriously hungry, and the bigger they are, the more they need to consume. If a dangerous creature is known to hunt in a certain area, people tend for obvious reasons to avoid it. I made inquiries as to which ships, if any, always returned to port on that day. I nearly misfired because I found nothing, but then I realized my mistake. Since the attacks took place in the small hours of Friday morning, the ship might dock any time on Thursday, and sure enough, I found the St. Benedict which makes a weekly crossing to Rotterdam.”

“Not to mention Doctor Metatron”, I added. 

To my surprise he shook his head.

“Like most of his business interests, his connection is through several other people”, he said. “Indeed, I very much fear that, should the Devil decide he does not need the competition and the man recover, it will be difficult to prove he was guilty of anything other than meeting strangers off a ship.”

+~+~+

Regrettably, Cas was proven right. I had saved the life of his arch-enemy, although at least we were granted a respite of some months whilst he recovered. The police indeed failed prove any link between him and the owners of the ship. I had overseen the killing of one giant rat, but had to save the life of a second.

I did not know then how close I was to regretting that fact even further.

+~+~+

Our next case would have a definitive Gallic flavour.....


	8. Case 67: The French Mistake (1890-1891)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously unpublished, mentioned elsewhere as 'a service performed for the French government'.

I

Christmas that year was a sombre affair. Having saved the life of one of the worst excuses for humanity, I felt as if my skills had been soiled in some way, and it hung over every patient I dealt with thereafter. I could also not shake the growing feeling – fear – that this business with Doctor Metatron was going to end very badly. That festive season Cas and I coupled only rarely, both of us now seeming to prefer just to hold each other until we fell asleep. Except for one memorable occasion......

+~+~+

Finding a suitable Christmas present for the alpha who could buy anything was always a problem, not helped by my latent inability to plan ahead. I was saved that particular year after a week of fruitless shopping when an alpha patient of mine asked me about a new dietary aid he had read about in a magazine recently. When he explained what it was I very nearly fell off of my chair, but held it together enough to explain that I doubted the efficacy of such an invention, at least until it had been further trialled. It was fortunate that he mentioned without my having to ask that the magazine in question had, ironically, been my own dear Strand. I can safely say that I never viewed them in quite the same way again!

Cas came home about a week later, and after a meal and some quiet time reading together, I told him that I had a surprise for him, and that he should join me in my room in a few minutes' time. He quirked an interested eyebrow at me, but smiled and remained seated. Once in my room I stripped off quickly, prepared myself with some scented unguent I had brought home from work, and laid a wrapped present out on the bed between my legs. I was barely ready before there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Enter!” I called out.

He came in smiling, and the smile grew only wider when he saw that I was ready for him. Then his eyes caught the present on the bed, and he looked momentarily confused.

“Christmas is not until next week, Dean”, he pointed out. 

“I know”, I grinned, “but I couldn't wait. Open it.”

He quickly removed the wrapping and found the grey box inside. He lifted the lid, and looked markedly bemused at what he found inside.

“It's a new dietary device”, I explained, feeling a little ridiculous at giving a lecture in my current exposed position. “A vibrator. By pleasuring the prostate and stimulating orgasms, it takes the recipient's mind away from food.”

He looked at me, and his eyes were dark with passion. I may have developed a very small(ish) pudge just above my waist, but my walking to many of my appointments kept me in fairly decent trim, though nowhere near as good a shape as my friend. 

“You got this for me”, he growled. “And you even got yourself ready for it. That is an amazing present, Dean!”

I blushed at the praise. He fingered me gently, then inserted the vibrator slowly into me. I groaned in ecstasy as it was fully inside me, nuzzling against my prostate – and then Cas must have switched it on, for I uttered one high-pitched yelp before I was coming violently. He reached over and kissed me, gradually bringing me back down to earth.

“That was just a few seconds on the low setting”, he muttered, clearly amazed and smiling broadly. “I can't wait to see how you react to the higher ones.”

“Merry Christmas!” I panted, still recovering.

“And we can welcome in the New Year by my trying it too”, he smiled. “I love you so much, Dean.”

He turned the thing back on, but this time I was more prepared, and although I quickly got hard again, I held back. He smiled happily.

“This is the best present you have ever got me!” he declared. “And I want to play with it all night!”

+~+~+

I felt proud of actually getting Cas something he liked, and the competitive part of me was also a little too prideful that he would not be able to top me. 

I should have known better. On Christmas morning itself I woke to find, unusually, that Cas had got up before me, and that he had fetched breakfast from the other room. I yawned and sat up, only then realizing he was standing at the end of the bed.

In a French maid's costume!

Damn it, he was going to kill me one of these days. But at least I would die with a smile on my face!

+~+~+

Bearing in mind my Christmas present from Cas (which, by the way, I really, really enjoyed unwrapping!), he must have had some idea as to what was coming. I have dated our next case together across the New Year period as it was brought to our attention by a New Year's Eve visit from that regular plague of my existence, Mr. Balthazar Novak. And late on the last day of the year, at a time when I wanted to get to Cas' room and hold him to his promise of trying my Christmas present for him on himself. Damn inconsiderate, if you ask me!

The tall blond man folded himself into the fireside chair.

“Now that the infernal Doctor Metatron is temporarily out of commission”, he said, “or at least reduced in his scope of activities, I wondered if you might look into a small matter for a client of mine?”

He glanced at me as he spoke, and I could sense his disapproval. I remained silent.

Cas banged his first hard on the table next to his chair, making us both jump. 

“Balthazar”, he said coldly, “if you mention, or even allude to certain events on a London quayside earlier this month in any way, shape or form during this visit, or if you impugn my dear friend's professionalism to one fraction of a degree, you will be banned from this house for a twelve-month. And I shall take great pleasure in refusing all communications from you during that period, no matter how urgent they claim to be. Is that understood?”

He spoke quietly, but I could see the cold fury in his ice-blue eyes. Our visitor flinched.

Sorry, Cass... Castiel”, he muttered.

My friend gave him another stern look before sitting back. I was reminded that angels in the Bible are often far from what most people believe, and at the moment Cas looked every inch the warrior of God.

I adjusted myself beneath the table as an image of the warrior of God in a French maid's costume chose that untimely moment to cross my mind. My brain's timing could be better.

“Who is your client?” Cas asked.

II

“The French government”, our visitor said. “They're in a mess. Again.”

I was not surprised. The country which in some people's living memory had bestrode the Continent had never been able to settle since the double-defeat of Napoleon the First, and possibly the only surprise at their humiliation at the hands of the Prussians twenty years earlier was that it had taken so long. Paris had stumbled from one constitutional crisis to the next, and the next one was probably overdue if anything. A revolution had seemed more than likely the previous year over the populism surrounding General Georges Boulanger ranged against the standard dislike of the government in Paris, and only swift (if constitutionally questionable) moves by said government, plus the general's apparent indifference to his own cause, had seen the danger averted.

“You may recall that that menace Boulanger lost his chance because of his infatuation with his mistress”, our visitor said, uncannily echoing my thoughts. “Well, it seems that he may be about to have his revenge. Even though he is now living in Jersey, the French government has found that he managed to obtain certain, shall we say, incriminating documents about several leading politicians, and that he is prepared to sell to whoever bids the highest.”

“And I suppose our dear friends in Berlin would love to obtain such information”, Cas said dryly. “What sort of incriminating information?”

“We do not know”, our visitor said.

No-one could do pointed silences like my friend. His brother was clearly wilting under that stare.

“That is a pity”, Cas said eventually, pressing his long fingers together and looking down into his lap. “I do not take important cases without knowing certain salient facts beforehand. But I wish you good luck in your endeavours, Balthazar.”

His brother glared at him, and Cas stared back. I silently began to count, wondering how far I would get. I reached eleven.

“Fine!” Mr. Balthazar Novak growled. “It's a sorry tale. There are five ministers implicated; one for sodomy, one for having three wives in different parts of the empire, two for fraud and one for running a brothel.”

“Male or female?” I asked, writing furiously. If looks could have killed, I would not have reached the next full-stop.

“Male!” the taller Novak almost barked. “Cas...tiel, will you take it or not?”

“Do you require us to go to France?” Cas asked. "Or Jersey?"

“No”, his brother said. “The maid of the man's mistress is coming to London with the information, and is presumably planning to go round the major embassies to see what she can get for them. American woman, from what I understand. Her name is Mrs. Missouri Moseley.”

+~+~+

“I do not see how you can succeed in this case”, I said pointedly, once his brother had made my day infinitely better by departing. “Obviously the maid's mistress or her lover have the original documents, and unless the British or French governments empower you to bid on one or other of their behalves, you cannot win.”

“Balthazar has indeed asked me to bid up to a set amount to obtain the documents”, Cas admitted. “For the British, it would be important leverage.”

“Leverage?” I asked. “I thought they were our allies?”

“Today's allies can become tomorrow's enemies”, Cas said, a little sententiously, I thought. “In recent years the French have established themselves in both east and central Africa, and there is every prospect that they may seek to unite those lands. With the British pushing up north from the Cape and south into Sudan, there may be conflict somewhere along the upper Nile before the decade is out. By buying and then returning the documents, our government would be demonstrating its good faith.”

“How noble”, I said.

“Not that they would not keep copies!” Cas added with a chuckle.

Not that noble, then. My friend looked pointedly at me.

“We still have four hours left in eighteen hundred and ninety”, he observed. “And I believe I promised that we would welcome in the New Year in a certain way?”

I did not let out a squeak like a sex-starved omega. Well, not that much like one. I did however race Cas to his door, though of course I lost.

+~+~+

I was out of commission for most of New Year's Day.

III

Three days later, Cas received a telegram from his brother. I remarked that it was surprising he did not come round in person (not that I wished for such a thing!), but my friend said that he had been less than pleased with his brother's implied slur on my recent actions, and that contact for the next month was to be done in person only in the event of an emergency. I may or may not have preened at that.

All right, I did.

“He states that Mrs. Moseley was welcomed at the Russian Embassy yesterday”, Cas said. “Officially only because she claims to be some distant relative of the current America president.”

“According to Mr. Darwin, we are all relatives of the current American president, if one goes back enough millennia”, I observed. “But it is a clever subterfuge, even if it fools nobody.”

We had a quiet breakfast, but it was interrupted at the finish by the unexpected arrival of Cas' brother, who looked totally out of sorts. Clearly something calamitous had indeed happened.

“Mrs. Moseley's room at La Parisienne was turned over yesterday evening!” he said exasperatedly.

I confess that I was more than a little surprised. That particular hotel was one of the most exclusive in London, renowned for respecting the privacy of its guests and, in one famous case, a doorman actually taking out a gun and shooting at a newspaper journalist who was trying to get access to a guest. 

“Did she not put the papers in the hotel safe?” Cas asked.

“I don't know what happened”, his brother admitted, “but she told the constable who interviewed her in her room an hour ago that the papers were safe. Presumably she secreted them somewhere that the thief did not find them. Perhaps she even slept with them, I don't know! But that's not all. Guess what else happened last night?”

Cas sighed in a put-upon manner. His brother glared at him.

“Oh, I forgot; the great detective does not guess”, he said sarcastically. “Well, let me tell you. The Jersey home of General Boulanger and his mistress was blown to kingdom come!”

“Were they inside?” I asked.

“Fortunately they were attending a ball, and whoever did it had the 'kindness', if that is the right word, to set off a smaller explosion outside first that caused the three servants to come out of the house. All were injured, but none seriously. So this means almost certainly that the only actual documents pertaining to the scandals are now those in the possession of Mrs. Moseley.”

“It rather looks as if the French government may have misled you somewhat”, Cas said dryly. “Clearly they, or their confederates, are determined to eliminate this threat, one way or another. The physical proof is vital, especially with the General's standing as it is. How is Mrs. Moseley?”

“We have put a police guard outside her room, and she herself has gone out for a walk”, his brother said. “Another policeman is accompanying her. I have to get back to Whitehall and monitor the situation, but I thought that I had better come here for something so important.”

Cas nodded and his brother stood up, but instead of leaving he walked across to my table.

“I am sorry, doctor”, he said humbly. “I was wrong to cast an aspersion on your decision to save a man's life. I realize that now.”

I wondered silently if this was less a real apology or more an attempt to get back into his brother's good books, but smiled.

“I accept your apology”, I said, “and thank you for making it.”

He bowed and left. I thought I caught the faintest smile on my friend's face when I turned from closing the door after our visitor, but I may have been mistaken. Though on reflection, I thought not.

+~+~+

Half an hour later we had another visitor. It was one of those mornings.

“Mrs. Missouri Moseley”, Mrs. Harvelle announced, and withdrew.

The lady who entered was dark-skinned and sharp-looking, about forty years of age and dressed in possibly every colour under the sun. If she had been aiming for inconspicuous, she had missed by several hundred miles. I also sensed very quickly that very little would get past her. She nodded to us and took the seat by the fire, placing her large handbag on her copious lap.

“Mr. Castiel Novak”, she said in a melodious American voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, madam”, Cas smiled. “How may I be of service?”

She looked at him thoughtfully for some time before speaking.

“I need your help, Mr. Novak”, she said plainly, “and I know you and your doctor friend can be trusted. The law is useless to me – except for that nice young policeman who is waiting for me outside, of course - because they would want to know things. I can tell you the straight honest truth, and you can advise me.”

“I will certainly do my best”, he said. “Pray continue.”

“My mistress' house was destroyed last night, and I can only thank a merciful God that she and the man she loves were not inside it”, she said fervently. “Gentlemen, the documents in that house were the originals, and no copies were made. All I possess is a brief summary sheet of the facts of each case, which would never stand up in court.”

Cas thought for a moment.

“How did you keep that sheet safe last night?” he asked.

She blushed.

“My family has always been gifted with what is known as The Sight”, she said. “There are certain events in the future that I can see, and it is both a blessing and a curse.”

“How could that be a curse?” I wondered.

She turned to me. There was the briefest of pauses before she spoke.

“It works as and when it chooses, doctor”, she said. “When my late husband was shot in a saloon one day, I had the knowledge too late to reach him in time. Other times I see...... things many months, and sometimes years, ahead.”

I had the uneasy feeling that she was alluding to something important, though I had no idea what.

“Is it not the case that acting on such premonitions risks your losing the ability?” Cas asked.

“My late mother told me that, provided I did so solely to preserve my own safety, I would keep it”, she said. “Use it for a close family member or a stranger, and I would lose it forever. I have always felt, however, that one day something would happen which would make that a price I would be prepared to pay. I thought it would be for Bill, but as I said, he died an hour before I could reach him.”

“And it does not need the Sight to foresee that once someone realizes that you have no proof, they may take revenge on your master and mistress”, Cas said. “Even on your good self. May I ask what your plans are after this trip to our city?”

“I plan to return to the United States, and move to live near to my daughter, Clarabelle”, she said. “She has a house in the territories they are settling beyond the river I was named for.”

Cas eyed her handbag thoughtfully.

“When you go”, he said, “leave that behind. And you may care to ask the hotel for an evening edition of the Times newspaper. I think you may find it quite interesting. You may call and collect your bag at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.”

She looked at him curiously, but placed her bag on the floor, bade her farewells and left.

IV

“Is it safe for her to be out there?” I asked anxiously. “Even with a police guard?”

“I am almost certain she will have been followed from the hotel, most probably by the agents for more than one foreign country”, Cas said with a smile. “Indeed, they have most probably been falling over each other in the process! They will all note that she left her bag here, and will presume that she left the documents too.”

“Will they not try to raid here tonight?” I asked worriedly.

Cas chuckled, and pulled up a notepad on which he began to write. I waited for him to finish, whereon he folded the paper and handed it to me.

“I will stay and guard this politically sensitive and highly valuable empty handbag”, he smiled, “and you will go to the offices of the Times newspaper and post this in the evening edition. You will then call in at the offices of Martinson and Brackendale, and spend ten minutes inside the building before continuing back to here. I have an arrangement with the secretary there, so he will not mind you waiting for a time.”

I stared at him expectantly, but apparently he was not inclined to elucidate. Rather grumpily, I left on my errands. And it remained a mystery, until I got to the newspaper offices and they read through what Cas had written.

Damn it, the man was a genius!

+~+~+

At ten o'clock sharp the following morning Mrs. Moseley returned to Baker Street. She had a broad smile on her face, in contrast with her anxiety the day before.

“I knew I could trust you!” she smiled. “A genius move.”

Cas' newspaper item had been a statement informing all who needed to know that he, on behalf of the British government, had purchased the sole rights to the Boulanger documents. Furthermore, as Mrs. Moseley was now a client, Cas had taken the precaution of sending copies of the files to ten different lawyers around the United Kingdom, with instructions that if anyone took action against the maid, her family or her employers, then they were to immediately supply all the details to various national and regional newspapers. I understood the stop at the lawyers' office as well, now.

“Even when the politicians in those files fall from power”, Cas said, “and being France, that is likely sooner rather than later, their successors will not want to risk tarnishing the French government's reputation by targeting you or your employers.”

“Thank you”, she beamed, picking up her handbag. “You have saved not only my life, but quite certainly those of the people I love. I know just how far a government's reach extends when it feels threatened.”

“It has been a pleasure”, Cas smiled. She turned to me.

“Doctor, would you please walk me downstairs?”

I was a little surprised, but I agreed and escorted her out of the door. Outside, I called a cab for her, and one quickly rolled up. I helped her in, and handed her her handbag. But she did not call out her destination at once.

“Doctor”, she said carefully, “remember how I said that a time would come when I had to risk losing my abilities for a greater good?”

“Yes”, I said uncertainly.

“Two things”, she said quietly. “First, I left a small something for you upstairs. And second.....”

Her dark eyes looked troubled.

“Second, remember. No matter what things may appear to be, no matter how dark death's vale looks when you are in it, one thing is as sure as the sun rising in the east. That man up there loves you, more than life itself, and he will never leave you.”

I stepped back in shock.

“Driver, Paddington Station!” she commanded loudly.

I was stood here for some time with my mouth open as her cab disappeared down Baker Street. How strange.

+~+~+

“I wonder what she left us?” I said to Cas, as I looked around the recently-vacated chair. It probably said something (unflattering) about my limited detective skills that I looked for some time before thinking to feel down the side of the seat, from whence I extracted a battered New Testament. A small leather bookmark was inserted just after the start, and I opened it at the marked page.

“She has underlined a short passage in Matthew”, I said. “Chapter ten, verse twenty-one, the first half. 'And the brother shall deliver up the brother unto death'.”

I wished a moment too late that I had continued to stare in puzzlement at the Good Book, but instead I chanced to look across at my friend. Only for a second, but the look on his face was unmistakable. 

Guilt.

+~+~+

On the following morning's tide, Mrs. Missouri Moseley left these shores on board the liner SS Teutonic at approximately nine o'clock in the morning, At almost exactly the same time, a pawnbroker called Edward Fitzroy was shot dead in his shop in the East End. That shooting began a chain of events which would end in myself and Cas following Mrs. Moseley across the Great Water, and in my losing the best friend I had in the whole wide world.

+~+~+

Next, the Final Problem......


	9. Case 68: Reichenbach (1891)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously published as 'The Final Problem'.

I

Foreword: of all the stories which time had enabled me to re-edit, this one shows the greatest change. I set my original version at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, which gave me such an unpleasant feeling when we visited during our Continental trip some years prior. The reason for this was twofold; I did not wish those people associated with the actual location in which Cas was torn from me a second time to suffer the infamy of becoming known for such a deed, and I felt that the Helvetic cascades, against which I had felt an unreasoning dread for no discernible reason, a much more fitting location. Possibly I also felt that changing history in this way helped to distance me from events that came close to breaking me as a man.

+~+~+

The bitter winter chill of that January was matched by the cold vice-like grip around my own heart. Mrs. Moseley's words had struck home, and I felt certain that some sort of calamity was just around the corner. I went about my business with my senses dulled, going through the motions more than anything else. I could not look at my friend without an overwhelming sense of foreboding. I knew Cas was striving hard to bring the still-injured Doctor Metatron to justice, and he often arrived home after me looking tired and careworn. Sometimes he even fell asleep on the couch whilst leaning against me, and I had to carry him to his room so we could sleep in comfort together.

I did not know why, but I felt almost a sense of achievement when we reached the end of that month, and February arrived with an unseasonable but welcome burst of relative warmth. Cas' had frequent visits from his brother Balthazar, but seemed to be making little headway, and I felt his growing frustration. I could not know that events were already in motion which would bring matters to a fateful conclusion.

St. Valentine's Day fell on a Saturday that year, so I did not expect to have to work, but early that morning a telegram arrived from one of the surgery's newer clients requesting my urgent attendance – no clue as to what for, annoyingly – so I packed the bag Cas had given me and set off. Cas had been out late the night before and, unusually, had slept in his own bed for once, though I supposed that was to avoid waking me. He had not emerged from his room by the time I left, even though it was after ten o'clock. I silently cursed this 'Mrs. Lucas”, and promised myself that I would charge her up to the maximum if this proved to be a wasted journey. 

I arrived to the address I had been given, which was in Manchester Square, not far from both Dorset Street and Cramer Street. It was a semi-palatial residence, and I was immediately shown up to the room by a footman who withdrew rather than enter with me. Unannounced, I stepped forward to meet Mrs. Lucas – and froze.

Mrs. Lucas was none other than Mr. Lucifer Novak!

“Huh?” I said eloquently. He rose to his feet.

“Doctor”, he said urgently, “if you value the lives of both your good self and my brother, you will do exactly as I tell you. Both of your lives may depend on your actions in the coming hours.”

Something about the tone of his voice told me that he was deadly serious. I nodded. He held out his hand, and led me from the room and down the back stairs to a rear exit, where a carriage was waiting. He physically pushed me into it before barking 'Paddington Station' at the driver, who then set off so fast that I almost fell to the floor. 

“You have been watched ever since you left Baker Street”, he said ominously. “We have at best fifteen minutes before they realize they have been duped, but God willing, that should be enough.”

I was beginning to resent being ordered about like this, but I felt a rising sense of fear at the chain of events that was unfolding. We pulled up sharply at the station entrance, and I was again manhandled out and through onto the platform, where an express was just preparing to leave. Mr. Lucifer Novak hesitated, then pulled open a door to a first-class compartment, threw my bag inside, and all but forced me in. The only other occupant of the compartment was a gentleman reading a newspaper, who surprisingly did not react to my undignified entrance. That was until he slowly lowered the paper and turned a pair of familiar blue eyes on me.

“Hullo, Dean.”

Cas!

+~+~+

“Hullo?” I almost yelled. “Hullo?”

I was apparently turning into a parrot. Cas smiled apologetically at me.

“I am sorry for all the subterfuge”, he said, “but it was necessary for the continued existence of both of us. I prefer being alive, and were those monitoring us aware of our plans, well, I tend to believe they have been ordered to shoot first and ask questions later.”

The guard's whistle blew, and the sudden jerk of the carriage almost threw me into him. Overbalancing, I collapsed untidily back into the seat opposite, from which I gaped at him.

“An explanation?” I said weakly. “Please?”

+~+~+

“Early last month”, Cas began as we picked up speed, “a pawnbroker named Edward Fitzroy was shot dead in his shop on the edge of the East End. One crime amongst many in our capital, yet it proved to be the golden thread with which we have all but un-ravelled Doctor Kurt Metatron's criminal empire.”

“How?” I asked excitedly.

“During his sickness”, Cas explained, “the man exerted less than full control over his evil empire. One of his subordinates shot Mr. Fitzroy because a family member owed money to him. It was his and the doctor's bad luck, and our good fortune, that Mr. Fitzroy was one of the agents of Miss Charlotta Bradbury, who was Not Best Pleased. She dispatched an immediate demand to the doctor for the life of the killer, but most unwisely the man chose to try to protect him. He was fished out of the Thames two days later, and a note in his pocket stated that Middleton's now considered Metatron's empire as an enemy.”

I stared at him in growing excitement.

“I believe that Miss Bradbury has been preparing such a strike for some time, and the killing of her agent gave her the perfect excuse to move against the doctor”, he went on. “In the past week, four witnesses to crimes committed by the doctor's men have come to London police stations, and the case against him is ironclad. The only thing keeping Metatron out of the law's clutches right now is the efforts of his lawyers, and they are but delaying the inevitable.”

“But how are you involved?” I asked.

He sighed.

“I have been keeping the various witnesses safe”, he said. “Even though we frustrated the Doctor's attempts to plant 'obliging' policemen in the East End, many officers of the law can be bought off by someone who will pay any price to save his own neck. Their testaments are probably not enough; we would need them all to testify to make it stick. Metatron's lawyers have been demanding access to him, but fortunately we have been able to block them.”

“That is good”, I said, although I noticed that he still looked worried.

“You do not see the consequence of all this, doctor”, he said. “My rival has already been round to Baker Street and threatened revenge for my actions. He said at one point that he would target you, your brother and his family...”

My heart ran cold.

II

“However”, Cas said, “I made it clear that two could play at that game. Metatron has a family of his own, and I countered that any actions against any Winchester would result in his own dear wife and children meeting some very unfortunate and painful accidents within hours, if not minutes. We could target each other by all means, but not those close to us.”

I felt a warm feeling at that.

“But then why did he send his men after me?” I asked. 

Cas chuckled.

“Doctor”, he said, “my opponent knows I would never flee from him and leave you behind. How could I?”

If mankind had managed to get people on the Moon at that time, I was sure they would be able to see how red I turned from all those miles up.

“I knew he was planning a move against me”, Cas went on, “and this morning I received a telegram from Mr. Marcus Crowley. Though a criminal himself, he utterly loathes Doctor Metatron, and he informed me that the latter had just employed one of the capital's leading assassins to visit Baker Street later that day and kill me. Fortunately I know the man in question, and he has an absolute horror of leaving the capital, hence my decision to run.”

I stared at him in horror. I had so nearly lost him yet again. This was almost too much.

+~+~+

“We are making good time”, I said. “He cannot catch us now, surely?”

Cas shook his head.

“Luke's subterfuge may have shaken them off, but they will quickly work out that we decamped via the Plymouth Express, to connect with the sailing of the SS Iberia. He will follow us.”

“He cannot overtake us”, I said. “Not an express.”

“He will hire a special”, Cas said. “Most probably from the London and South Western at Waterloo. If he is quick he may just beat us to Exeter, and he would certainly reach Plymouth before us.”

I looked at him in alarm.

“Calm yourself, doctor”, he said. “We are not going that far. We shall alight at the Temple Meads station in Bristol, take our own special from the Midland Railway Company that Balthazar has arranged for us at their St. Pancras offices, and be in Liverpool in time to catch the SS Majestic. She is the only ship that does not call in anywhere in Ireland, so even if he hires a motor-yacht he cannot intercept us.”

“Why Lucifer?” I asked, curiously.

“We met some time back, and it was decided that both Balthazar and Gabriel would be watched by Metatron's men”, Cas explained. “I have always been closer to Luke than either Mike or Rafe.”

I sighed. My life was suddenly rather too interesting. But at least I still had Cas.

+~+~+

It was as Cas said. We pulled into Temple Meads precisely on time, and less than fifteen minutes later had our own single-coach train and were steaming rapidly through the Gloucestershire countryside.

“How did you evade them at Baker Street?” I asked. I was feeling happier at the turn of events, especially as there was a picnic hamper with us that contained one of Mrs. Harvelle's pies.

“Gabriel dressed himself up as me and lurked around the room”, he explained. “Mrs. Harvelle smuggled me out of the back, after she had made a public display of sending two bags to Victoria Station, to suggest a crossing to the Continent from either Kent or Sussex. Our actual bags were smuggled out through the connecting door to 221A, where a portly country gentleman – myself – took a cab for Marylebone. Once I was sure that we were not being followed, we made for Paddington.”

“I hated those blinds you had put up last month”, I observed. “Ghastly grey things.”

He looked at me pointedly.

“Dean”, he said slowly, “those are Iron Duke blinds. Designed to deflect gunshots from outside.”

Oh.

III

We boarded the Majestic as Mr. Alexander and Mr. Benjamin Frost, brothers returning to the United States from a trip abroad. The American passports provided by Balthazar looked more genuine than my British one, which Cas had brought along with my bag.

“Do you think Metatron will follow us across the Atlantic?” I asked.

“It is certain”, he said calmly. “His arrest if he stays in England is only a matter of time. The only revenge he can take is my life, and he will go through Hell to make sure he does just that.”

I shuddered.

+~+~+

We arrived safely in New York, and checked into a small hotel near the Grand Central Station.

“The first ship Metatron can get is the SS Fulomar, and she is not due in here for another three days”, Cas said. “He is, I think, more likely to lie low for a couple of days and then take the SS Teutonic, which is faster and would only get him here twelve hours later. It is also a better ship, and he likes his comforts.”

“So we have a few days' head start”, I said. “What about the American police?”

Cas shook his head.

“Balthazar said it would be more efficient to use a private search agency, so he has employed Pinkerton's”, he said. “Unfortunately until the case officially comes before an English judge, they cannot arrest him over here.”

“What if he manages to kill your witnesses?” I asked worriedly.

“Calm yourself, doctor”, he smiled. “Once the judge hears the case, an arrest warrant can be telegraphed across the Atlantic. Metatron's fate is sealed. It is only a matter of time.”

+~+~+

On the basis that he would not expect it, we set out next day up the East Coast, calling in at New London and spending the night in Boston.

“Balthazar will be shadowing Metatron as he crosses, and Gabriel and Luke will try to meet us later on”, Cas explained.

I thought quietly of Mrs. Moseley's quote about the brother delivering brother unto death, and nodded. I worried, though. 

We worked our way up into New Hampshire and Vermont, where we stayed at a charming little bed and breakfast in the town of Burlington. It was almost idyllic, if a little cold, and I was sorry to move on. We then proceeded across the upper part of New York State until we reached the town of Buffalo, and I got to see the majestic Niagara Falls. And Mr. Balthazar Novak, but one cannot have everything.

It was March by this time, and 'the brothers Mr. Charles and Mr. Edward Burnham' proceeded along the south coast of Lake Erie until we reached Detroit, which did not impress me at all. Neither did Chicago, and it was there we had our first scare. Balthazar arrived at our hotel at one in the morning, and told us that we had been recognized and that Metatron was sending two men up from Indianapolis overnight. We had to make a silent departure, slipping out to wait several hours at the cold railroad station before we could take the first train south to Indianapolis (Balthazar advised that it would not be expected for us to head towards a potential danger, and that because of the railroad timetables, we would certainly pass our pursuers going the other way). 

From then on we stopped only one night in each place. We moved south to Chattanooga and Birmingham, and met the Gulf of Mexico when we stopped for a night at Mobile. Then it was onto Baton Rouge and my first sighting of the mighty Mississippi River, before we turned north and stopped at Little Rock before reaching St. Louis. Here I saw the other great river, the one which gave the prophetess from our last case her name, and I thought of her as we tumbled into our hotel beds for the night. I hoped that she had reached home safely.

The following day Balthazar was waiting for us at breakfast, with news that despite our efforts, we had been found again, and this time Metatron's agents were in the same town, or at least just across the river. We left quickly for the railroad station, and were lucky to just catch a train heading west by less than five minutes. 

We spent that night in Kansas City, and I felt exhausted. Whilst I was proud of the British legal system, I wished they could just find Metatron guilty and get the Americans to capture him and send him over. Cas seemed calm to the point of being resigned, which worried me even more.

The following day we started early again, and I expected us to cross the state of Kansas at least. But instead we only travelled for about an hour until Cas indicated it was time to leave the train. I alighted at a small town station – and my heart hit the floor. 

We were in Lawrence. The town after which my little brother had been named. 'And the brother shall deliver up the brother unto death'.

I knew. This was it.

+~+~+

Of all the things I had been expecting, the proprietress of the Welcome Home guest house was not it.

“Mrs. Moseley!” I gasped. 

She smiled, but I could see the strain in her eyes. Cas got slowly off the cart and the two of us retrieved our bags and came inside, where she showed us to our rooms. I did not fail to notice the look exchanged between the two of them before she left us.

“What is going on?” I asked testily. 

He sighed.

“Dean”, he said slowly, “do you love me?”

“With all my heart”, I said firmly.

“Then I must ask you to believe in me for now”, he said heavily. “Matters have not worked out as I had hoped, but we may still come through this. Will you trust me?”

Now that was unfair, pulling out the puppy-dog eyes at that point. Especially as I would have caved anyway. I smiled and pulled him into a hug.

“Always and forever, Cas”, I said fervently. “Always and forever.”

+~+~+

I woke the next morning feeling both unaccountably cold and unusually drowsy. Cas was not in bed with me, which was unusual, but something at the back of my mind was ringing an alarm bell. I dragged myself up and went over to the mirror, where I carefully examined my eyes. Just as I suspected. I turned to pull on my dressing-gown to leave the room - and froze.

Cas' leather wrist-band was placed next to mine on the bedside table. The band he had been wearing ever since I had been shoved into his compartment at Paddington Station. And inside it was his ring. My heart sank.

I dressed as quickly as I could, forgoing even the weakest attempt at shaving, and hurried downstairs. Somehow I was not surprised to see Lucifer Novak sat at the breakfast table. He was dressed as a real tourist, right down to the binoculars around his neck. He saw me stumble in, and looked at his watch. As well he might; it was past ten o'clock.

“What did you do?” I almost snarled. I did not care that he was bigger and stronger than me right then; my only thoughts were a growing fear for my Cas. 

“I did nothing”, he said levelly, though I noticed that he did seem a little uneasy as he spoke. I was not to be so easily deterred.

“All right, what did you get Cas to do?” I demanded.

“This was all his idea”, Lucifer said, standing up. “If you are ready, perhaps we should go to see him.”

That should have reassured me, but I still felt that something was terribly wrong. Why would Cas drug my evening milk – I knew the signs – and then leave without saying anything? It did not bode well.

+~+~+

A horse and cart was outside ready for us, which was a relief. I had been on a horse but once in my life, and found it absurdly high. It irked me that Lucifer Novak did not seem inclined to rush, and kept looking at his watch for some reason, but I gritted my teeth and said nothing. 

Finally we reached the edge of town, and the entrance to a single bungalow that was set slightly apart from the edge of town. I saw that, unusually for this country, the house had a name, and my heart sank still further when I read it.

'Reichenbach'. 

In the distance I saw that a group of men were standing around the entrance to the bungalow. It was too far to recognize any of them, but when another man emerged from the building, I thought even at this distance he looked familiar.

“May I borrow your binoculars?” I asked Lucifer. He nodded and handed them over to me, and I focused them until the people came into vision.

The next few seconds seemed to pass painfully slowly, as three things happened almost at once. First, I recognized the figure to emerge from the building was indeed Cas. That should have reassured me, but the second thing was that I also recognized one of the men waiting for him was Doctor Kurt Metatron, and presumably the six other men were all his. I watched for a moment in shock, then lowered the binoculars to say something to Lucifer.

The third thing. There was an almighty explosion which shook the cart, even at what must have been over a hundred yards away. The horse whinnied and almost bolted, but Lucifer Novak held onto the reins, as what had been the single-storey house was blown to kingdom come. Debris rained down just a dozen or so yards away, and in a wide area around the ruins. I stared in horror.

“No!” I managed, half-sobbing.

IV

I tried to leap off the cart and race through the still falling debris, even though I knew in my heart of hearts that no-one could have survived that explosion. Lucifer Novak easily restrained me.

“We need to get you away from here”, he said firmly, hoisting himself up into the cart and taking the reins from me. “Balthazar and Gabriel have already dealt with the back-up; fortunately there were just four of them. Let's go.”

“But Cas.....” I began.

“No”, he said, sounding almost angry. “I'm taking you back to town. We're leaving.”

I was too dumbstruck to argue, and he drove us back to Lawrence in silence.

+~+~+

Lucifer disappeared once he had deposited me at Mrs. Moseley's guest house in the town – she was kind enough to take me to my room and leave me there - and it struck me as almost comical that I was a man in a foreign country with no money of my own, and completely at the mercy of someone whose family regarded me with distrust. 

And I had lost Cas. My Cas. 

I had dried my face and was in some control of my emotions when Lucifer returned. The Novak closest in appearance to Cas, he was taller and bulkier, and his eyes a different shade of blue, but somehow the similarities outweighed the differences, and I felt my loss again. If he noticed my falling apart, he was mercifully kind enough not to comment. Though it soon emerged that he had other, more pressing concerns.

“All right, here's how it is”, he said. “The good news is that that bastard Doctor Metatron is dead, and down there giving Old Nick some serious competition, no doubt. The bad news is that he has six family members scattered across Europe, none of whom are going to take kindly to the fact that your friend just eliminated their relative. That is, of course, if they find out.”

“What do you mean, if?” I asked.

“The family doesn't communicate much, so the last they know is the court case and his leaving England”, Lucifer said. “I can make it look like he just drowned or something, anything so they don't get a body. If they ever do find out, then they'll be gunning for you. So if you want to go back to Merrie Olde England, it will have to be on the understanding that you may need to repeat this flit again, and at extreme short notice.”

“Can you not do anything about them?” I asked anxiously. 

“Only monitor them through the German, Italian and French police”, he said. “”Of course, if they ever come to England, it will be a different matter. But like this time, we'd have you leaving the country the moment they arrived, if not before.”

I snorted a laugh.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“Your family hates me, yet you just saved my life, and now I may need to trust you with my life at some time in the future”, I smiled. “Thank you, by the way.”

“It was a pleasure”, he said. “I just wish....”

He stopped. I sighed, knowing full well what he had been about to say.

“I know”, I said sadly. “I wish that too.”

He was kind enough to leave me before I broke down.


End file.
